


the mortifying ordeal of being seen

by Tamari



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Rigel Black Series - murkybluematter
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Confrontations, Emotional Baggage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by The Rigel Black Chronicles, Internal Conflict, Potions, This starts out as a sickfic but I promise there is no pandemic storyline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 54,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25253887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamari/pseuds/Tamari
Summary: When Harry brewed a potion to save Caelum's life, she didn't expect their entire relationship to change.
Relationships: Harriet Potter | Rigel Black/Caelum Lestrange
Comments: 106
Kudos: 288
Collections: Rigel Black Chronicles Appreciation, Rigel Black Universe





	1. self-discovery

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Pureblood Pretense](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/39096) by murkybluematter. 



> This is fanfiction of a fanfiction, and it won't make much sense unless you've read the Rigel Black Series (and if you haven't, what are you doing with your life??). RBC compliant up to Futile Facade chapter 12.
> 
> It’s set the summer after fourth year, right before Harry’s birthday, so Harry is chronologically about to turn 15, and I'm saying she's 17 with Time-Turner time included. Caelum is 19. 
> 
> There is smut, but I marked the beginning with a set of asterisks and it ends at the section break if you want to skip it. (Forgive me, Violet.)
> 
> Betaed by CasualPeruser, thank you so much!

**PART 1: self-discovery**

The week before her birthday, Harry arranged to meet Caelum Lestrange in the Alleys for lunch. In their correspondence during the school year, he had hinted at the progress he’d made in Shaped Imbuing and the possibility of new innovations to the method. Harry was actually excited to meet up with the older boy, which was, she reflected, quite a change from where they’d started.

Although he usually insisted on going somewhere fancy since there was the slightest chance they’d be spotted by someone he knew, he’d grudgingly agreed to return to Aroma Alley. This was fortunate for her wallet, as she usually ended up footing the bill.

She arrived early, so she was already seated in a booth when Lestrange strolled in the door. Normally, he walked like he owned the place, but today, he didn’t look as haughty as usual. As he sat, he even wobbled a little.

“Are you drunk?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“No!” he snapped, clearly in a foul mood already. “You know I don’t actually drink wine. And it’s eleven in the morning. Only riffraff would drink before noon.”

Harry peered at him, taking in his dilated eyes, and the slight shaking of his hands as he picked up the menu. “Are you sick?” was her next guess.

“ _No,_ ” he said. “I’m here to discuss Shaped Imbuing. Purely professionally. I have many improvements to the process itself, naturally, since your methodology is questionable. As far as ideas about further experiments, I attempted imbuing several battle spells, but they lacked potency in potion form…” 

Despite his attempt to change the subject, Harry was unconvinced. She noticed the waiter across the room clearly deciding to let them sort it out before coming for their order. With a sigh, she reached across the table, ignoring Caelum’s flinch, and touched his wrist. Even that part of him was burning up. 

“You’re running a fever,” she said flatly. “Why don’t you go home and rest, and we’ll talk about this another day?”

Lestrange averted his gaze. “I can’t right now,” he said. He didn’t elaborate, but Harry had to hide a wince, thinking of the time they had brewed together in the Lestrange castle and the scenes she had witnessed between his parents. His eyes flicked back to glare at her, no doubt realizing exactly what she was thinking.

“It’s _fine_ ,” Lestrange sneered. “Are we going to talk about potions, or should I go?”

“Go where?” Harry raised an eyebrow. He looked even worse in the few minutes that they had been talking. “St. Mungo’s?”

Lestrange shook his head and crossed his arms. He was still trembling. Harry’s level of concern, at first quite low, was rising.

“There’s a clinic in the Lower Alleys,” she tried. “Let’s go there.”

“I’m not going to some _dirty-blooded_ clinic for peasants!” 

By now she was used to his insults, which sounded more half-hearted the more time they spent together. They were even less impressive when his voice shook. Harry sighed and scooted over to his side of the booth. 

“ _What_ are you doing?” Lestrange demanded, rearing back against the wall.

“Let me cast a diagnostic spell, and maybe we can stop by an apothecary and find something to take care of it ourselves.” 

Lestrange scowled. “First, half-blood, even if you were permitted to do magic during the summer holiday, I don’t trust whatever spell they taught you at that second-rate American school. Furthermore, I don't need your help 'taking care of it'. I simply have a cold.”

“That's obviously not the case,” Harry said, starting to feel frustrated. “And if it is, the spell will show that and I’ll leave you alone.”

He huffed and agreed. He had a point about doing magic outside school, but the Trace wouldn’t activate if she didn’t use her wand. Still, she asked her magic to be discreet when she cast the charm.

Harry sorted through what her magic was telling her, recalling what she and Archie had learned. It was an infectious disease, no doubt about it, but the readings weren’t what she was used to seeing for typical flus and colds. Whatever it was, a Pepper-Up potion wouldn’t be enough. There was something off about the reading…

At once, her hand snapped up and she cast a Bubble-Head charm around him. Lestrange yelped in surprise.

“What the hell?” 

“You have _Wattles Disease_ ,” she hissed. It was difficult to modulate her volume, wanting Lestrange to hear her through the bubble, but not wanting the other patrons to hear and panic. Wattles Disease was contagious. Harry had cast the bubble mostly out of instinct.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Lestrange complained. “Do you see any _wattles_ on me?” He gestured to his beautiful face.

She tugged at his arm and forced him to stand. “Not yet, but you'll have them soon enough if we don't hurry," she retorted, “I'm taking you to St. Mungo’s immediately. They’ll have the potion you’ll need to recover.”

Wattles Disease was scary for the grotesque way it killed if left untreated — the later stages of the disease weren’t pretty, and the mortality rate was high. Lestrange was being remarkably blasé about the whole affair, possibly because he knew there was a cure. Harry had looked into the recipe after she had brewed Seifer’s Solution. Like Seifer’s Solution, Wattles Warfare was a costly potion, which made it even worse that Wattles Disease tended to ravage lower-income communities in particular. Wattles Warfare was by far easier to brew than Seifer’s Solution, but there was a lot of magic needed, about as much as a batch of Aconite Alleviation, and it required Indirect Stirring for its bottom layer.

St. Mungo’s, however, would definitely have the potion. And while Lestrange’s parents might be stingy with their fortune when it came to his brewing, surely they wouldn’t let their heir _die._

She pulled him out of the restaurant, but he yanked back his arm. 

“I said _no.”_ His voice was angry, but it was the look in his eyes that made Harry pause. It was fear. 

“The clinic, then,” she said, then paused again. Although Leo’s mother ran a tight ship, Maywell wasn’t as equipped to handle contagious diseases as St. Mungo’s. What if the Lower Alley residents got sick because she’d taken Caelum Lestrange there? She’d never forgive herself.

Lestrange saw her hesitation. “No. I’ll return home this evening,” he said. “Until then, I’ll just…”

But there was no “just”. Lestrange had nowhere to go until this evening, even if the illness could wait that long (and without more research, she wasn't sure it could). She couldn’t bring him to her home to brew the cure for him, either — he needed medical treatment, but she wouldn’t put Addy at risk. There was one place she could think of to take him, where no one else would be in danger of contracting the disease, where she could brew Wattles Warfare. Still she hesitated.

She thought through the problems as thoroughly as she dared. Lestrange still had the Bubble-Head charm on (which looked ridiculous), but she needed to be quick.

The apartment. Harry rented it, but she was Harry right now, and Lestrange knew that. Fine. The apartment was a secret from her parents, but Lestrange hardly ran in the same circles as them. Right then. 

Yes, he would think it was strange that Harry had an apartment when she lived at home with her parents. No, she couldn’t just let Lestrange suffer on the Alley streets. She wouldn't give away the ruse a moment before she must, and yet...

After the way the tournament had ended, and the thin ice their pretense stood upon, maybe it would actually be _better_ to have one more person who could corroborate her story. Lestrange would be able to see her apartment — furnished, with snacks in the cupboard and her lab all set up for her latest project. He would be able to confirm that Harry Potter lived there if the worst should come to pass. Everyone knew Lestrange hated Rigel Black; why would he lie to protect Rigel? He wouldn’t. It was a good addition to her alibi.

She stared at him. For once, he had been quiet while she thought. Far from being reassuring, it ratcheted up her concern several more notches. Lestrange looked completely out of it.

Harry shook his elbow. “Hey. Lestrange. Caelum!”

His eyes focused again. “What, Potter?”

“I have a place for us to go. It’s an apartment I rent so I have somewhere to brew in private." She kept her grimace inside. It was a flimsy excuse. “We’re going there, and then I’m going to brew the potion to cure you.”

“I can brew anything you can brew better,” he scoffed.

“Not _while_ you’re sick. We’re going.”

She didn’t ask again, setting a brisk pace through the streets and pulling him along. Unlike when she had tried to take him to St. Mungo’s or the clinic, he didn’t protest. Lestrange being agreeable made her the most concerned of all.

Through the Lower Alleys they went, Lestrange walking half a step behind her. She had to slow her pace as he stumbled and staggered, catching his toes on the cobblestones a few times. He must have been sick for a while already, too stubborn to admit it or ask for help.

She had to practically shove him up the steps to her apartment on Dogwood Lane. He didn’t even glance around disdainfully once they walked through the door, no snarky or classist remark on his full lips. He looked like he was about to collapse.

Harry opened the door to the bedroom. “Lie down _,_ ” she said.

“In your bed?” His voice was weak, and any intended connotations fell flat.

“It’s just for napping,” she said, “now get in the bed. I’m going to find the recipe for Wattles Warfare and you are going to rest while I brew.” Her tone left no room for argument. She dispelled the Bubble-Head Charm so he could have fresh air, stared Lestrange down until he let his head rest on the pillow, and then closed the door behind her.

In the living room bookshelves, now filled with Potions compendiums, she searched for the one she recalled having the recipe, as well as one of her healing textbooks. Yes, there they were. Like she remembered, Wattles Warfare was a magically taxing potion with some more esoteric ingredients, but she already had everything she needed stocked in her kit. The potion would take 6 hours to brew. It was already almost noon. 

She would need the six hours to brew the potion, she figured, plus a few hours while it took effect. The Healing textbook mentioned that the fever and delirium subsided quickly after the cure was administered, restoring normal mental capacity and eliminating the risk of passing on the disease, but it could take anywhere from minutes to hours for the patient to regain full physical capability. She didn’t feel comfortable sending him back to his parents’ home while still in the process of recovering.

The book also showed a grim timeline of the disease. Lestrange was already feverish and unsteady, the second phase of the illness. Once a patient entered the fourth phase and developed wattles, they had a less than 10% recovery rate even with the correct treatment. If he'd waited to get medical treatment, he could have died. He could still die, if she didn’t start brewing soon.

Harry took a deep breath as she set up her ingredients by the cauldron in the middle of the room. She shrugged off her robe in anticipation of the cauldron's heat, leaving herself in the loose tunic and breeches she normally wore to the Alleys. Glancing warily back towards the closed door of the bedroom, she dug her mirror out of her bag.

“Archie Black,” she said quietly.

Archie’s face appeared in the mirror, almost like her reflection but with his own gray eyes. “What’s up, cuz?”

“I won’t be able to make it to dinner tonight. Can you cover for me? I know Mum wanted to talk to me about something, but it will have to wait.”

Archie raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you in the Alleys?” At her nod, he smirked. “With _Leo_?”

Harry scowled, not appreciating his tone. “I’m not with Leo,” she said shortly. “I have a potion to brew.”

“Can’t you brew it another time?” He rolled his eyes. “The Daily Prophet interview is tomorrow, and we need to talk about strategy beforehand.”

In her rush of worry over Lestrange, she’d almost forgotten. The Daily Prophet was interviewing Rigel Black tomorrow, the winner of the Tournament. Harry thought she should go, but Archie thought it should be him, and they’d argued about it all week. Harry was the one who had _competed_.

But Riddle and she had last parted on worse terms than ever before, and she couldn't help but be concerned about his sheer fury. The marriage law hadn't passed before Rigel won the tournament, and now it never could. Archie and Harry remained engaged, though; they couldn't break the betrothal until they both were seventeen. Harry might have been that old already, in folded time, but Archie wasn't. 

Archie suspected Riddle would be there at the interview, and maybe there would be a test or a setup to trip Rigel up. That made Harry all the more determined to go; _she_ spoke Parseltongue, _she_ knew the most about Rigel's past dealings with Riddle, and she still had Archie’s blood if it came to that.

In the end, Archie had agreed that she should go, but he insisted on fussing about making a plan for every possibility. Harry wasn't the only one who had changed.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said truthfully. “You know I wouldn’t ask unless it was important. It’s a Healing potion.

“Is it for Maywell? Do you need my help?” Archie asked immediately.

“No!” Harry said. Archie was a decent enough Potions assistant, but the last thing she needed was Lestrange and Archie in the same apartment. Even discarding the danger of Archie catching the disease as well, it would be a disaster. Archie knew about the unorthodox friendship Harry had cultivated with the older boy, but he was still suspicious and distrustful of the Lestrange heir. And of course, Lestrange despised Rigel Black and would probably act up and make himself sicker. Even though _she_ was the Rigel Black who Lestrange knew, and he had only met the real Archie once. What a mess.

After an awkward pause, she said, “Thanks anyway, Archie, but I’ve got this. I should be done by nine or ten tonight.” 

Archie frowned. “Maybe we can talk in the morning, then, before your interview. I’ll tell everyone you’re having dinner in the Alleys and then coming over for a sleepover. You know the password to the Grimmauld Floo. Just let yourself in and come up to my room when you’re done with your potion.” 

“Thank you,” she said with relief. 

“Of course,” he said. “You know I’d do anything for you. Talk to you tonight.” 

She put the mirror away and tried to focus. She’d never brewed this potion, but it was no Seifer’s Solution. With the right ingredients, plenty of linseed oil, and her magical core at top form, she could handle it.

From the other room, she heard a thump. Harry sighed.

“Caelum? Are you all right?”

The bedroom door opened, and Lestrange poked his head out. He glared at her with his icy blue eyes, but the effect wasn’t as arresting when they were glazed with fever. He stumbled into the living room. He'd taken off his own heavy robes and was dressed only in a well-fitted shirt and trousers. 

“Lie back down,” she said, exasperated. “You need to rest, and I need to brew this potion so you get better.”

“I don’t like being by myself in there,” he blurted. He sounded miserable. 

The illness was affecting his cognition already, Harry thought, since she doubted he would ever confess that to her in his right mind. At least he didn’t seem to be hallucinating, which would mark the third phase of the disease. It was safer for her if he stayed in the other room, but she supposed that she could always take a dose of the potion herself if she needed it later.

“All right,” she said, trying for a gentle voice like the one Pansy used with unicorns. She stepped over to him, and he didn’t shy away from her like he had in the restaurant. Harry steered him to the couch she’d shoved to the edge of the room. “Can you lie down on the couch for me?”

“Don’t leave,” he said imperiously. “Swear to me you won’t.”

“I’ll be right here brewing the whole time, I promise,” Harry said. She held up her mortar and pestle to show him, about to grind the ginseng. 

“Can’t believe how good you are,” he huffed. "It's completely unfair."

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Was that a compliment?” She looked back over, but he wasn’t paying attention, just staring off into space with his head resting on her throw pillow.

Right. She needed to concentrate, not be distracted by ramblings he clearly didn’t mean. She worked in silence while Lestrange fell asleep. When she had a chance to check on him again, his fever was higher, and he was whining in his sleep. She made herself stay calm as she prepped ingredients. He would be fine. She would finish the potion, and he would be fine.

A small part of her felt like she was eleven again, watching all her friends fall sick around her. And Lestrange — Caelum — he _was_ her friend now, no matter how much he griped about it.

By three in the afternoon, Caelum was awake again, tossing back and forth on her couch, and he wouldn’t stop talking while she brewed. She had to devote most of her attention to the potion, especially at the trickier stage of Indirect Stirring, but she couldn’t help overhearing. He talked about Shaped Imbuing, even though none of the theories he spouted made sense. He talked about his apprenticeship with Master Whitaker. He complained about Mr. Tate. He complained about a million other things.

“You need to tell Lionel Hurst to back the hell off,” he grumbled at one point, and Harry almost lost track of her stirs. She hadn’t realized they knew each other. It made sense, considering Leo’s father was Aldermaster. She also vividly recalled Leo confronting her about the first time she’d met Caelum in the Alleys, and how Leo had thought Caelum had been _courting_ Harry.

At five, Caelum stopped talking to her and started talking to people who weren’t there. The third phase. He called repeatedly for Popsy, who Harry supposed must be a house-elf. Nobody came, though. Sometimes he spoke in a language she didn’t know (maybe Russian, since he had studied at Durmstrang). It got even worse.

“Mother, please,” Caelum pleaded to no one. “Put your wand down. I’ll be good.”

Harry imbued on autopilot. She felt sick to her stomach, but she was fairly sure it wasn’t because she’d caught Wattles Disease or used too much magic. She remembered Caelum, plucking porcelain out of his hair because Madam Lestrange had thrown a vase at his head for going to Potter Place. She remembered, _you’ll have to kill me then,_ and how he’d snuck around with such practice in his own home _._ Caelum hated to be pitied, he had made that clear. He would hate that she was hearing this. 

When James had been furious with her for coming home late, he’d grounded her. Trying to imagine her parents _hurting_ her… she couldn’t. She often tried to appreciate her loving family, her parents and Sirius and Remus, and of course Archie and Addy. She knew not everyone was so lucky. Still, the vast sea that lay between herself and Caelum was dizzying.

It was a long, distressing hour before the potion was complete. There were some things a person could never unhear. Harry desperately wished she could give him privacy, but she had promised not to leave him alone. She had promised.

She bottled several doses, even though Caelum only needed one, and tucked the extras into her kit. It was better to be safe, and she didn’t want to brew the potion again if anyone else in the Alleys caught Wattles Disease. Who knew how long Caelum had been out in public before their lunch? 

On the couch, Caelum was lying on his stomach, face buried in the throw pillow. She couldn’t tell if he was crying. Lightly, she stepped over and knelt beside him.

“Caelum?” she said, trying to project a sense of calm and steadiness. 

He turned his face further away.

“Caelum, I need you to take this potion. Can you do that for me?” Harry tried again. If she had to, she knew the spell that would transfer the potion directly into his stomach. She hadn’t had qualms using it aggressively against the Aurors in the Tournament, but it felt wrong to use it now. 

He rolled over. “Did I make the potion right this time?”

Harry met his red-rimmed eyes. “Yes,” she said. “You made it perfectly. Can you drink it, please?” She held out the single dose.

There was a long pause while he stared at her intensely, as if trying to see past the hazy, false images to the reality that was Harry as she knelt beside him with a potion. Ultimately, he took it from her hand, his own fingers shaking so badly that Harry hoped he didn’t spill. 

He didn’t, although he made a horrible face as he swallowed the potion. Harry stood up and, for lack of something better to do, walked over to double-check what the Healing book said about recovery. Of course, the text hadn’t changed. It wouldn’t be long before the fever disappeared and his mental faculties were normal. As normal as they ever were, at least.

She closed the book and re-shelved it. Then she began tidying up the makeshift lab space, giving the potion time to work and giving herself time to think. Across the room, Caelum was sitting with his head in his hands. When he could think straight, would he be angry with her? Would he be angry with himself for letting her see so much? Would he close himself off again?

It was probably another five minutes before Caelum spoke.

“Potter?” Caelum’s voice was muffled by his hands. He hadn’t raised his head.

“I’m here,” she said. 

He sighed deeply. “Fucking hell. I really did have Wattles Disease?” 

“Did you doubt my diagnosis?” 

Caelum looked up just to roll his eyes at her. “Of course I did, brat, you’re hardly an expert.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’m more than halfway done with Healing training, you know.” It was technically true. She pulled out her wand to check on his condition.

He flinched violently, then sank back further into the couch like he was trying to disguise the reaction. They stared at each other.

“I want to make sure the potion is doing what it’s supposed to,” Harry explained. 

“Can I just... go?” Caelum said. She thought he looked ashamed, but it was harder to read him now, and it wasn't an emotion she was used to seeing on his face.

Harry shook her head. “The book says it takes a few hours to feel back to normal.” She knew that if she told him the ‘minutes to hours’ part, he would leave immediately, no matter how he felt. She pushed away the vivid image of him staggering into his home, out of it like he’d been in the Alleys, and encountering Lady Lestrange.

“You expect me to sit here for hours?” he said, looking skeptical. “In this… hovel?”

She shrugged. “You could take a nap.” At his expression, she added, “Or you can read something. I have lots of Potions journals on the shelves.”

“I don't particularly feel like reading.” He grimaced. 

Harry moved to drop beside him on the couch. She was exhausted _,_ and she was hungry _._ He didn’t scooch away from her when their knees touched, which she considered a small, silent victory. 

“Well, we can talk about something,” she suggested. “You can tell me about your improvements to the Shaped Imbuing process. You sort of tried earlier, but I didn’t quite... catch everything.”

“You want to talk about Potions right now?”

“You don’t?” she asked, surprised. That was the only thing he ever _did_ want to talk about; when they’d eaten lunch at La Serene and she’d asked about his life, he’d acted like she was brandishing a knife at him. And when she’d tried to talk to him before fleeing Dartmoor Castle, he’d shut it down immediately.

“Are you going to pretend nothing happened?” he demanded. 

“I wasn’t sure how much you remembered. About being sick,” she said weakly. 

"Not everything,” he confessed. “I remember… leaving the restaurant. Lying down. Coming into the living room to watch you brew.” He looked down and blushed to the tips of his ears. She suspected that meant he _did_ remember demanding she not leave him alone.

He added, “But it’s difficult to recall from there.”

“After a while, you began experiencing hallucinations, the third phase of the disease,” Harry said, trying for her most clinical, matter-of-fact voice. “Luckily, I was able to complete the potion before you entered the fourth phase and developed wattles.”

“It would be a shame if anything marred this perfection,” Caelum said dramatically, gesturing to his beautiful face.

“It would be a shame if you _died._ ” It was hard for Harry to keep the emotion out of her voice, and she wasn’t sure she succeeded. “The potion is only about 10% effective on patients in the fourth phase. If you’d waited even five more hours to drink the cure, there’s a huge chance you wouldn’t have made it.” 

She didn’t want to get angry, especially when he was still recovering. But she always had more trouble with control when she was Harry Potter. Rigel had to be perfectly contained; Harry had a bit more freedom to speak her mind. Even a taste of freedom was addictive, when she spent her whole life under the weight of her secrets.

Caelum blinked at her. “Even if that were true — and who knows if you’re lying — what difference would it make to you? I suppose you’d miss out on my brilliant contributions to your new technique. Less competition for patents, though, in the long-term.”

"Salazar's sake, Caelum, not everything is about potions!” Harry jumped up from the couch and whirled on him, balling her fists at her sides. “And I can't believe you just made _me_ of all people say so. Don’t you _care_ that you almost died?”

“Yes,” he said. “But I don’t understand why you do.”

Harry shook her head. “How can you ask me that? You think I’d just leave you to die on the Alley streets? Say ‘oh well’ and skip on home? Bring a bunch of Flitterblooms to your fucking funeral? Listen to your mother say something horrible again, like asking me how I got rid of you so _permanently_ this time?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘fuck’ before,” Caelum said thoughtfully.

Harry threw up her hands _._ “Out of everything, that’s what you registered?”

He sneered. It was the most pathetic sneer she’d ever seen, including her own first attempts at the expression in the mirror. “Potter, you cannot possibly expect me to believe you healed me because…” He didn’t finish his sentence.

She finished it for him. “Because I’m your friend, Caelum.” Her exhaustion bled into her voice. “You can deny it all you want, and society never has to know about your scandalous association with a half-blood brewer, I don’t care. But I am your friend. Even if you aren’t mine. Even if you’d literally rather die than ask for my help.”

The Sleeping Sickness. The petrifications. The man in the Alleys. She remembered what it was to feel helpless.

There was a long pause.

“I didn’t want to die,” Caelum said. He was looking away, at the cauldron across the room. “So… thank you.”

“Wow,” said Harry, trying to lighten the mood. “This is the second time you’ve thanked me _._ I ought to purchase a plaque to commemorate the occasion.”

“Maybe you should,” he sniffed. “It's the biggest honor of your life, and I doubt you’ll receive a third one.”

Harry rolled her eyes. “I don’t know about you, but I’m _starving._ We never ate lunch and I’ve been brewing nonstop.” She trailed over to the kitchen, peering into her cabinets. Unfortunately, she mostly had nonperishable snacks for when she brewed, not much in the way of solid meals. 

“What do you feel like eating?” she called out.

“I’m not hungry,” Caelum snapped. She noted with relief that his steps were sure and steady again as he followed her into the kitchen. 

“Are you still experiencing nausea?”

“No."

“Then you must be hungry. Don’t be stubborn. Have you ever had a Kinder Egg?” She tossed one to Caelum.

He caught it reflexively and looked absolutely horrified, although she couldn’t tell whether it was due to the Muggle treat or her half-blood cooties. He put the Kinder Egg back on the counter with alacrity.

“That was a joke,” she sighed. “Would you eat toast? I could run to the market and get some bread."

“Do you not know how to cook?” he asked incredulously. 

“Do _you_?” Harry shot back. “Don’t you have house-elves to cook for you? And fancy restaurants for every other occasion?”

“Obviously,” he said. “But I still know how to cook. In theory.”

Harry shook a box of cereal at him. “Theory doesn’t stop the cake from burning,” she said wisely. “I could go get take-away, if you want? You should stay here, though.”

Caelum shuffled. “No, I…” 

She remembered when she had left him in the bedroom. He hadn’t wanted to be alone, even when the alternative was her company.

“Hmm.” She bit her lip in thought. “I have potatoes and onions. We could fry them.”

He wrinkled his nose haughtily. “I suppose. If that’s the best you can do.”

“ _We_ can do. You’re assisting me. You do know the theory, don’t you, Caelum?” she teased.

“Very well.” He rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t want you to ruin our dinner like you ruined Jourdain’s Amalgamation.”

“You can’t ruin Jourdain’s Amalgamation, it doesn’t even do anything.” Harry pulled out the potatoes to wash, handing Caelum a cutting board and knife for the onions. “And in that particular case, I was _sabotaged,_ and you know it _._ So long as you don’t purposefully hand me sugar instead of salt, this ought to turn out splendidly.”

She tried not to laugh, watching Caelum struggle to peel the skin off the onions. A small snort did come out anyway. 

“There are rather more layers than I anticipated,” Caelum said defensively.

She was struck by a sudden, ridiculous urge to hug him, and she busied herself slicing the washed potatoes instead. “I believe in you,” she said with exaggerated sweetness. 

They prepped the food in a strangely companionable silence. After everything was chopped, and they’d argued over the appropriate spices, Caelum took charge of the frying pan. Harry got up the nerve to ask some of the questions she'd been wondering about.

“Who is Popsy?” 

He raised his eyebrows. “How do you know about Popsy?”

Harry blushed and crossed her arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. “You mentioned the name earlier, when you were sick,” she explained. “I was just curious.”

Caelum looked down at the pan. “He was my house-elf. Hestin’s mate. He — my parents are very important people with numerous responsibilities. Popsy took care of me as a child when my parents were otherwise occupied. He died a few years ago.” He seemed like he was about to say more, but stopped himself.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Harry murmured.

He flipped the potatoes, which were starting to brown, and didn’t look up at her again. “I hate that phrase,” he said. “No one ever means it. It’s just something you say when you’re attending someone’s cousin’s grandfather’s wife’s funeral, or when plain ‘I’m sorry’ implies culpability.” 

“I see your point,” Harry said, considering. “Like pureblood society in general. Niceties and traditions and pretty words to disguise the darkness. Or the emptiness.” She almost smiled. Rosier had gotten to her after all.

“Why do you think I despise playing nice?” Caelum remarked. “I won’t put on a persona to make people feel better about themselves.” 

“You were raised in society, though,” Harry pointed out. “I would’ve thought you’d get used to it.”

Caelum grunted, transferring the food to the two plates Harry set out on the counter. “Other way around,” he said, finally meeting her eyes again. “It gets worse over time.”

She found that relatable. Hadn’t she, at first, been a bit dazzled by pureblood society despite her better judgement? The glittering Rosier ballroom, Pansy’s too-polished charm… it had been beautiful, even when she’d gone in knowing the thorns underneath. How different would it be to grow up like that, learning the currents of hate and falseness in stages?

“Let’s eat,” she said, not sure what else to say. 

“You don’t have a dining table,” Caelum said slowly.

Harry laughed. “I have a couch.” 

She turned on her heel and, plate in hand, walked back out to the living room. She plopped onto the couch and laughed again at Caelum’s wrinkled nose. With a deep sigh like it physically pained him, he sat at the other end of the couch and poked his fork into his own food.

“This isn’t bad,” he said thoughtfully. “I take credit due to my ingenious idea to add cayenne. You’re welcome.”

Harry swallowed a mouthful and shrugged. “It’s nothing like my mum’s cooking, but it’ll do. So much for not being hungry, huh?” His plate was already half empty.

“I know how to use wandless magic, don’t test me,” he said with more amusement than heat. 

She put on a fake pout. “If I can’t test you, how will I measure your knowledge? I have to make sure my students are progressing, you know.”

Caelum had finished his food, setting his plate on the floor, and was eyeing hers. “If either of us is the student, it’s you. Maybe you came up with some wild ideas, but I’ve perfected them, and that’s the true measure of talent.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want to talk about potions,” she said archly. 

“Oh, shut up. Do tell me what progress Master Snape has made, though,” Caelum prodded. “I’ll tell you what I’ve been working on another time.”

Harry smiled, slightly apologetic and slightly smug. “I promised him I wouldn’t, I’m sorry. He thought my idea had so much potential that I ought not to spread my ideas around until we go further in experimentation and he does some research into licensing."

Caelum actually laughed. “He did _not_ say that.”

“He actually did.” Harry smiled even more widely and took her last bite of the potatoes. “It was pretty wild. Bodes well for my future in the Guild, I hope.”

Caelum sighed dramatically. “Desist with your false modesty. We both know you’re the second best up-and-coming young potioneer in Britain.” 

“You’re the best, I take it?” 

“Naturally,” he drawled. “And once you’re my apprentice, perhaps my greatness will rub off onto you.”

Harry grinned wickedly, thinking of what Rispah would have said to that. Oh, why not share with the class? “I don’t believe the Guild condones that sort of thing in a master/apprentice relationship,” she said, arranging her face in her primmest pureblood expression.

Caelum spluttered and went red again. 

She laughed and let her face relax. He was too easy to fluster. “In that vein, maybe you should stop counting on any future apprenticeship. Even if I were amenable and we wouldn’t drive each other mad in the first week — people would get the wrong idea.”

“Why?” he asked, seeming genuinely confused.

Harry raised her eyebrows. “Don’t you think choosing me, a half-blood teenage girl, as an apprentice, while still fresh into your Mastery, would raise questions? About our… prior associations?”

“Please. Nobody would think that,” he said quickly. 

"They definitely would." Harry shook her head. "You know more than most about people and their assumptions. I suppose I could claim you view me as the little sister you never had."

"I would deny any such claims. Emphatically." He looked so disgusted by that suggestion that Harry was a bit offended. Surely it wasn't _so_ horrific to imagine being related to her. Although the idea of Caelum as her older brother was equally disgusting… She chose not to dwell on possible reasons why.

“You are an only child, aren’t you?” Harry asked. It would have been remarkable if he weren’t, considering the Fade’s impact on families as pureblooded as the Lestranges and the Blacks.

Caelum nodded. “But you recently acquired a younger sister, or so I heard?” 

Harry didn’t particularly want to talk about her real family; she had never quite forgotten hearing Caelum spit _mudblood bitch._ But he had said that to Rigel, not to her, and he had toned down the vitriol in the time she’d known him. It took great time and effort to reverse the bigoted indoctrination of a lifetime, she supposed. He was friends with her now, and that was a big step. She should keep doing her best to nudge him along. In the name of friendship.

“Yes,” she said, after an awkward, too-long pause. “Her name’s Adriana. Everyone calls her Addy. She’s very cute, and she loves magic.”

“Don’t all children?”

“Probably not Muggle children,” she said dryly. “But yes. She’ll develop more of a personality as she gets older, I’m sure. Right now, it's more — does she prefer her ball or her blanket? Does she prefer me or Archie? Definitely Archie, if you were wondering, although she's gotten better with me as time goes on."

Caelum scoffed. "Your sister has horrendous taste. Who could prefer Black over you?"

"Careful, Caelum, I'll start to think you actually like me," she teased.

"Don't be absurd," he said, but his blush spread to the tips of his ears again. There was an odd look on his face that almost reminded her of Rosier.

"Hmm, I have been wondering… only, what _is_ your favorite color? It's important to know these things about your friends." Harry winked. 

He huffed and crossed his arms. “I still cannot believe you did that. At the most important event of the season, no less."

“Being nasty to Archie wasn’t making you any friends,” she pointed out. “I thought it best to intervene.”

“Not everyone cares about making friends as much as you do,” Caelum said snippily. Then, when she just pursed her lips, he sighed. “It’s actually green.”

“Wow, Slytherin really missed out on you,” Harry mused.

“And on you?”

“My favorite color is blue-gray,” she said. She wasn't really fussed about colors, in truth, but she liked the color the Polyjuice Potion turned just before she became Rigel, the combination of Archie’s electric-blue and her own charcoal grey. 

“No, I — blue-gray, really? How dreadfully boring. But I meant to ask, if you could go to Hogwarts, which of course you never could, but in the ridiculous world where they allowed any rabble to roam the halls—”

She rolled her eyes. _You have no idea._

“ — What house would you be in?” He finished his question, and appeared to be awaiting her answer seriously.

The answer was, of course, Slytherin. But it wasn’t that easy. The Hat had put her in Slytherin at least partly because of her duplicity and cunning in working out the ruse. In a world where that wasn’t an issue, would her ambition still be enough to get her placed into the house of the serpents? Well, she was also a Parselmouth. She would bet that the answer was yes.

“I think I’d be in Slytherin,” she said honestly. “Because of my ambition. I'm going to be a great Potions Master or die trying.” _Or lose my soul trying, more accurately._

"Potions Mistress."

She stuck her tongue out at him, not caring how uncouth it was. "What about you? Would you really be a Slytherin if you weren't at Durmstrang?"

"Of course," he replied, seeming surprised she'd even ask. "All the best families go to Slytherin. Even your brat cousin upheld Black tradition."

"But the Sorting Hat won't put you somewhere if it's not the best place for you," she said. "So you'll never know. Perhaps it would have decided that you belonged in Ravenclaw. Or even Hufflepuff." 

He raised his eyebrows. "How would you know so much about Sorting?"

"Rigel told me all about his conversation with the Hat," she said. “He tells me everything.”

"Why do you sometimes call him Rigel and sometimes Archie?" Caelum leaned back against the arm of the couch. "It's perplexing."

She shrugged, trying to play it off. "I always knew him as Archie growing up and at home, but I try to be cognizant and respectful that he goes by Rigel at school and in society. So I flip back and forth depending on context."

That was almost the truth, if one stretched the definition. Better than revealing that 'Archie' referred to her cousin, and 'Rigel' almost always referred to herself. Which, to be fair, did align with the home/school/society boundaries she had delineated.

“So does everyone,” Caelum said darkly. At her confused face, he elaborated. “Like I said, everyone has different personas depending on who they’re talking to, where they are, how they want to be perceived.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Harry said quietly. “Maybe a lot of people, but not everyone. Some people stay true to themselves whenever they can be.” She thought about Archie, and how even in America he’d formed lasting bonds based on his personality shining through. She thought about Ginny, and her refusal to meet others’ expectations. 

She — Harry, Rigel — was the most perfect counterexample to her own words, but Caelum didn’t know that.

Caelum scoffed. “Don’t be naive.”

“You do it too,” she reasoned. “You say you don’t care what others think of you, but you’re certainly nicer and more polite to Master Whitaker than anyone else, right?”

“That’s an exception,” he allowed. “What about you, Potter? Going to argue that you never put on a persona? I might believe it, from you, after seeing your behavior at the gala.”

Harry looked away from his piercing gaze. She, more than anybody, knew about personas. 

In a world with no blood prejudice, maybe she would be like Ginny, unapologetic and unafraid. There was no point in contemplating the impossible — Riddle might not be able to introduce his new legislation, but there was so much left to change. She hoped Addy would grow up unashamed, never having to hide her true self behind a mask. But it was too late for Harry. Even if the ruse finished with none the wiser, even if their plans came to fruition, she would never be free of Rigel Black. 

She had known this for a while, but it struck her again like a physical blow.

“Maybe there’s no such thing as a true self,” Harry said at last. “Maybe we’re just a mess of thoughts and actions and what other people perceive.” 

“You don’t believe that,” he said quietly.

“No, I don’t,” she agreed.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Harry studied the too-pretty, aristocratic angles of his face, lit from the side by the sunset-orange light streaming through the apartment window. She had wondered before how much of his nasty attitude was really him, and how much was an act to convince people that he didn’t care what they thought. Now she wondered how much was rebellion against the niceties of society and the idea of pretending to be someone he wasn’t. 

The silence grew heavy.

“What would it be like,” he asked, more softly than she’d ever imagined his voice, “to live without lies?”

Harry shook her head. “I can’t imagine.”

“For all you say you lie a lot, you seem more truthful than most,” Caelum said. “You’ve always been up front with me.”

Harry smiled bitterly. “That’s the best sign of a liar.” 

He looked confused, and she sighed.

“I know what it’s like to spend your whole life hiding. When no one sees you — they only see what they want to see, if they look at all. It feels like betrayal.” She thought of her Hogwarts friends, and how much it hurt to interact with them as Harry. She thought of James, and the years he’d spent denying her potions dreams. “But I choose it anyway. It’s better than letting them see too much.”

She made the choice to hide herself away from the people she loved. She wasn’t sure Caelum had ever had a choice at all.

“Why don’t you want them to see the real you?” Caelum asked, brow furrowed.

“I’m frightened,” she confessed, “of what would happen if they did. Of losing the people that matter to me. I pretend I don’t care what people think, but… what if one day people look at me and they see—”

_A liar._

“Once I thought being a Potions Master was the only thing I cared about. But that isn’t true. It never was. I’d die for my family, for my friends. But there will always be a part of me that wonders: if they knew, if they knew everything, would they walk away? And you can never live your life with all your walls down, never truly be open and vulnerable with other people, when you’re wondering that.”

Even Archie, who knew about the ruse, didn’t know the depths of her darkness. He hadn’t been there in the Chamber of Secrets, when she’d coldly stabbed herself with a fang because it had to be done. He hadn’t been there in the Forest, when her magic had killed Pettigrew, when two weeks underground had changed her forever. Archie had seen death, in South America, but he hadn’t accepted his own like she had, again and again. She didn’t think Archie would ever walk away, but neither did she think he could ever really understand.

“But that’s not even the worst part,” she went on. “What they see, the person I show the world… I’m terrified that someday that will be the only me that’s left. If I hide too long, maybe I’ll never be able to find my way out again. I’ll be trapped forever behind … behind the mask I made myself. And no one would ever know the difference."

Caelum Lestrange looked at her, after she’d just spilled open her heart and her fears (if not all her secrets). He shook his head and smiled like she was a puzzle he’d just solved.

“You’re wrong,” he said. 

“Am I?” She wanted to laugh. Was Caelum going to argue she was wrong about her own life?

“You say you’ve spent your whole life hiding,” he said seriously. “I don’t know your friends, I don’t know your family well either, I don’t know what you do when you’re not brewing. But I know you. You saved my life today for _friendship_ , when I’ve been purposely horrid to you since the moment we met. Mask or no mask, whatever secrets you have, whatever lies you tell… I know that no one worth a damn would walk away from you.” 

He paused, and she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“I know I haven’t been able to look away,” he whispered, “even when I’ve desperately wanted to. I see you, Harriet Potter.” 

And then Caelum leaned in to kiss her.

He moved slowly, his hand stroking down her jawline while his blue eyes met hers. Harry had plenty of time to move away. She had time for her brain or her magic to intervene against her hormones.

She had shied away from Aldon and Draco’s advances partly because she had secrets; they could never know Rigel was a girl. But she didn’t have to be careful, deliberate Rigel right now. She was Harry. She _was_ a girl. And while she still had things to hide, while the ruse was paramount, kissing Caelum wouldn't put her secrets at risk.

Ruse aside, she hadn’t even let Draco, her best friend besides Archie, kiss her. But that was exactly it — Draco was her best friend. He would have wanted a relationship, he would have fallen in love with her, and everything would be ruined. Caelum, by contrast, would hardly want something serious with her, a half-blood, and he definitely wouldn't tell anyone for fear of staining his own reputation. If she gave in to curiosity, no one had to know. She and Caelum would alleviate this strange tension and go back to being potions contemporaries slash cautious friends. It would be safe, for the ruse, her reputation, and her heart. Really, it was a very practical choice. 

Final point: he was Caelum Lestrange. Yes, he was so beautiful that she couldn't help but note it every single time she saw him. He had grown even more handsome since the day they’d met — when he’d _spit_ on her at the gala. Literally. How could she even consider this? Forget the intimate moments, forget that she’d saved his life and they’d opened up to one another...

Even before today, she’d taught him Shaped Imbuing, brewed Liberespirare with him, seen past the sneering mask he showed the world. Things _had_ changed. She had changed. Caelum had called Rigel naive; he wasn’t entirely wrong. At the cusp of fifteen ( _seventeen_ , whispered her mind), she wasn’t the same girl she’d been at twelve. 

So, in that lingering moment, she didn’t pull away. She didn’t ask her magic to intervene. But she wouldn’t just _let_ him kiss her — she tilted her head and kissed him back.

***

It was nothing like the soft, tentative kiss she had shared with Draco. Caelum was older and obviously an experienced kisser, even if the messy vulnerability that had preceded it was new to them both. His kiss was strong, fierce, confident. When his hand came up and tangled in her hair, she couldn’t hold in a soft sound. 

Caelum pulled her even closer, his other hand caressing her waist while the kiss deepened. He bit her lip, and rather than protest, she moaned. 

This would be embarrassing when she looked back on it, she thought, somewhere in the back of her mind (where Dom was mercifully silent). But that didn’t stop her from arching into Caelum’s touch. She had never been so close to him. He smelled like expensive cologne, and tasted like the spices they'd put in the potatoes.

As she ran a finger down his perfect cheekbone, his blue eyes fluttered closed under thick, dark lashes. Merlin, he was beautiful. It was really unfair, but it didn’t make her want to hex him anymore. Much.

Caelum kissed her again. The angle was hurting her neck, so she eased them backwards so her head rested on the couch cushion. He was on top of her now, lying heavy between her hips, in a position she’d never been in before with anyone. His body felt hot and solid in a way that sent little shocks down her spine. Or maybe those were from the way his lips felt on hers, and his _tongue_ — She wiggled underneath him. 

He stopped kissing her and raised himself up on one elbow, jammed into the corner of the couch. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She could feel his heartbeat against her chest, feel his breath against her face and neck. She could feel everything. 

Harry reached out and pushed a shiny lock of black hair out of his eyes. Her hand was shaking, like his had been earlier, but for an entirely different reason. “I— yes, I’m okay,” she said. “Are you? You’re still supposed to be recovering.” 

“Yes,” Caelum said quickly. His pale, angled face was flushed, but not with fever. “We can stop, though. If you —”

“I don’t want to stop,” she admitted, feeling her face heat up too.

“ _Harriet_ ,” he said, and he leaned in to kiss her again. He didn’t aim for her mouth this time, trailing soft kisses down her neck. 

Harry knew, intellectually, about erogenous zones on the body. But it was one thing to read it, and another to experience it. She shivered, despite the heat, and dug her short fingernails into his shoulders.

“I want you so much,” he whispered, mouthing at the neckline of her tunic.

Usually she knew the perfect thing to say. But right now, she could barely speak, let alone find a witty retort or a clever bit of wordplay. All she could say was, “Gods, yes.” Her voice sounded strange and breathy to her own ears. 

With long fingers — nails cut close for potion-making, like hers — he pulled her tunic over her head. The Muggle sports bra she wore underneath kept her chest flat, but she took that off too and tossed it away. She flushed hotter at his intense gaze. Harry knew she didn’t have much in the chest department, no matter how Archie had portrayed her at the Yule Ball. 

He didn’t say anything. His hands said enough, slowly tracing over her breasts. His palms were warm and calloused in the same places her own were. When he pinched her nipple, more electric bolts shot down her spine to where she ached between her legs. Instinctively, she rolled her hips into his. 

With a hand scrunched in his hair, she pulled him back to her lips. She was trying to unbutton his acromantula silk shirt, but it was pretty difficult from her angle. She made a noise of frustration, and Caelum huffed a laugh against her lips.

“Patience, Potter,” he said. Up on his knees leaning over her, he took his shirt off the rest of the way.

She couldn’t stop looking. It wasn't like seeing Theo shirtless in their dorm; the context was different, of course, but so was the boy in question. Caelum was lean but defined, pale skin over hard lines like a marble statue. After a long pause while she stared, she chanced a glance up at his face. His lips were twitching, and she frowned. 

“Are you laughing at me?”

“No,” Caelum said, sounding exactly like he was holding back a laugh. “It’s just — your face.”

Harry suddenly felt self-conscious, half-naked underneath him. He could probably tell from her expression, because he sighed loudly.

“ _No_ , I mean, the way you were looking at me and not touching or anything. Your face is fine.” 

Harry stared at him. “Fine?” Caelum had certainly insulted her appearance before. And yet, here they were.

“Your face is good?” he tried. “Nice?”

“That’s not what you said when you were referring me to a witch who specializes in facial transfigurations,” she said. She wasn’t sure if she was irritated or amused.

He looked even more aggrieved. “Obviously I find you _attractive_ ,” he growled, grinding hard against her.

She made an embarrassing noise that she would have preferred to classify as a moan, but was realistically more like a whimper. 

“What can I say? Every time I see you, you look… prettier. More striking. I can’t explain it.” Caelum said this all in a rush, then closed his eyes like his mouth had betrayed him. He slumped back down, face pressed against her neck.

Harry smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. "It’s okay. I won’t make you explain.” 

She ran her fingers through his soft, dark hair. When she pulled it, he groaned and nipped her neck. Then they were kissing again. The brief argument hadn’t dulled the desire in either of them. They kissed for a while, letting the pressure build up. 

Caelum reached down to tug at the waistband of her breeches. Silently, she helped slide them off her hips. When he ran his hands across her thighs to the junction between them, she jolted. She never thought it could feel like _this_.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured.

“We've been snogging for a long time,” Harry said defensively. “I can’t help it.” 

“It’s not a bad thing.” He kissed her nose, which made her stomach twist. Then he rubbed her through her underwear, which made her insides twist in a different way.

“Caelum, please.”

He inhaled sharply when she said his name. "You like that, don’t you?" His voice was smug, which she normally found irritating, but in this moment made her shiver.

"Yes," Harry confessed. 

He continued rubbing her in slow circles, until she was breathing like she’d been dueling. She reached down to tug at his trousers, which were still on for some reason, and he tried to slide off her underwear. After some wiggling and some awkward balancing, they both succeeded without falling off the couch. 

Caelum stroked her again between her legs. On bare skin, it was almost too much to take. Gradually, he slid a finger inside her. She hissed (not in Parseltongue, she hoped) and pressed her forehead into his shoulder.

“How does that feel?” he asked.

“So good." She loved how it felt to tell the truth. 

“I really want to fuck you,” Caelum whispered against her neck. His finger glided in and out to the tempo of her breath, speeding up. And although the words were crude, and she couldn’t see his expression, his voice was vulnerable again. 

He tilted her head up to kiss him, not stopping the steady movement of his fingers. She didn’t know the rules of trying to sound sexy in bed, didn’t know what to do next — which normally would have terrified her. But although her heart pounded, it wasn’t from fear. 

After several breathless minutes, she rocked her hips against his hand. “I want you too. Please.”

Caelum smirked, confidence evidently returned. “No need to beg."

He finally slid himself inside her. She gasped, more from surprise than pain. From the books she’d read and Lily’s attempts to talk to her about sex, Harry’d expected it to hurt. But it didn’t really hurt much; if anything, it was like the ache of her muscles after a good workout. 

He grunted. She suddenly realized that he made the same noise during sex as when he got a step right in a potion. Harry wondered if she was the only person in the world who knew that about him. Involuntarily, she pictured Master Whitaker's disapproving face if _he_ knew, and it startled a giggle out of her.

Caelum kissed her collarbone. "You're so damn cute.” He said it like a complaint.

“Are you going to move or what?” Harry asked, feeling daring.

He growled and did as she bid, setting a pace that left lightning in his wake. She did take a moment to mentally congratulate herself on an excellent decision. Then it became harder for Harry to form a coherent line of thought, to focus on things other than the push and pull of their bodies, his thrusts, the new sensations.

“ _Fuck,"_ Caelum growled. “You feel perfect.” 

She responded by pulling his face back towards her. There was something so intimate about kissing him while he was inside her, lips matching the rhythm of their hips. The whole experience was proving to be more intimate than she’d expected. There was no distance between them, physically, emotionally, or magically. 

There was nowhere to hide.

Still kissing him, she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist. The angle made him press even deeper into her, and he muttered swears nonsensically against her lips.

She was drowning in him, in her senses. They were both slick with sweat in the summer heat. The couch skidded on the floor with every thrust, and the sound of skin on skin was louder than she thought it would be. She fervently hoped the neighbors didn't notice.

Caelum reached between their bodies to touch her. "Are you almost there?" He was breathing hard in a very unaristocratic way.

Almost where? Harry wanted to ask, but she knew, even though she'd never experienced an orgasm before. Caelum had been touching her for a long time earlier, and now, the pressure inside her was immense, rising and falling in waves — she thought she might explode. She was almost unrestrained, almost wild. She was a free-brewed potion, volatile, on the edge of discovery. 

Harry let the feeling consume her, her whole body tensing. She clung to him while she rode the high. 

His hand clenched on her hip so hard she thought she might bruise. A moment later, his rhythm stuttered, and he groaned. "Harriet—" he breathed.

Caelum looked into her eyes. It was almost painful, that intimacy, a blade that could easily cut her to the bone. She wondered if, so close, he could see the edges of her dull green contacts. She wondered what else he saw.

Slowly, he withdrew from her. She flushed at the feeling and the mess. As she sat up, Caelum settled on the couch beside her.

Belatedly and with a touch of panic, Harry realized that for all of her insistence to Lily that she _knew_ about safe sex, she _didn’t_ need to discuss it any further thank you very much, it hadn’t even crossed her mind until now. No harm done, she thought, calming herself down. She would simply have to brew the stronger version of Contraceptive Potion that was usable for up to 48 hours after intercourse.

“Are you all right?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“I’m great,” Harry said honestly. 

For some reason, that made him raise his eyebrows. She tilted her chin in question.

“Of course,” he said after another pause. 

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, uncertain. “Do you need to… head home?” She hadn’t cast a Tempus, but from the darkness outside, she guessed it was at least eight o'clock.

Caelum’s expression turned sly, and he reached out to take her hand. “Wasn’t there a lovely bed in the other room you were _quite_ insistent on showing me earlier today?”

She blinked in surprise, then smiled a trifle shyly. “You know, I do believe there was.”

He didn’t let go of her hand, except to close the bedroom door behind them.

-O-

-o-

-O-

Harry woke up slowly, feeling snug under a set of covers. There was someone cuddling her, their arm a warm weight over her side. Maybe Archie had pulled the covers over them?

Abruptly, she realized they were both naked. Definitely not a sleepover with Archie, then.

“Go back to sleep,” said the person behind her, groggily.

She sat up, wriggling out of the covers, as awareness flooded into her brain. She was in her apartment in the Lower Alleys, in bed with Caelum Lestrange, and she must have fallen asleep. What time was it?

Asking her magic for light and ignoring Caelum’s loud complaints at the brightness, she glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was four in the morning. She took a deep breath, trying not to panic. Surely Archie had figured out a way to keep Sirius unsuspecting. 

“Where are you going?”

She avoided meeting Caelum's gaze as she swung her legs onto the floor and searched for her clothes. Still, from her peripheral vision, she could see him sit up in the bed. His pale skin glowed in the low light. His dark hair was rumpled.

 _Maybe because you’ve been running your hands through it all night_ , she rebuked herself as she asked her magic to summon her clothes from where she’d left them in the living room. There wasn’t time for her to ogle Caelum, let alone process her emotions. She needed to get dressed and get going.

“Harriet? What's the matter?” 

“Sorry,” she said, pulling on her breeches. “I have to get back. I'm supposed to be spending the night with Archie. He was covering for me, but I need to be there for breakfast.” She threw her tunic back over her head.

When Harry finally looked at Caelum, he was sneering. It was a familiar expression on his face. But it made her heart sink anyway.

“Hurrying back to fuck your blood-traitor betrothed?” Caelum said, his voice cold.

“Are you serious right now?” Harry clenched her fist around the clasp of her robes. “You didn’t care about my betrothal last night. And you shouldn’t be so quick to call Archie a blood-traitor when you just _fucked_ a half-blood.” 

"Something Black and I have in common, I suppose," he snapped back. "Do you spread your legs for every pureblood who comes your way?"

Harry gritted her teeth as she leaned down to put on her shoes. Her eyes were hot, but she wouldn’t let herself cry over something so ridiculous.

“Not that it's any of your business, but you're the only person I've ever slept with," she said flatly. "So go ahead and call me a half-blood whore. It's only yourself you're insulting." 

Since she had decided to befriend him, she’d been more amused than hurt by the way he spoke to her. She had teased him at her second gala, laughed off his comments. She’d thought bickering with him was almost fun. 

But it was different now, she realized. Of course it was different. Having sex with him hadn’t been safe at all; she’d been kidding herself when she thought otherwise. She’d gone through a list of reasons that she was making the right decision. As if she were being objective _._ As if she were being _rational._

Harry couldn’t be completely honest with anyone in the world: not her parents, not her uncles, not her friends, sometimes not even Archie. Sometimes not even herself. 

But Harry had to be honest with herself now. Despite everything, she’d grown to care about Caelum Lestrange, developed real feelings for him. She had brewed for hours to heal him and she’d seen a different side of him. And, more importantly, she’d thought Caelum saw _her_ : the part of her that was real and solid and true.

She had been wrong.

Harry snatched up her bag and stalked for the Floo. “You can see yourself out,” she called behind her.

“Harriet, _wait_ —”

But she ignored him and Flooed straight to Grimmauld Place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: FEELINGS. REPERCUSSIONS. CONVERSATIONS.


	2. self-reflection

**PART 2: self-reflection**

As usual, the Floo at Grimmauld spat Harry out with excessive force. The house was quiet and dark. She hoped that no one heard the thud she made as she twisted and caught herself on her elbow, protecting her potions bag from the impact. 

She crept upstairs to Archie’s room, so familiar with the layout of the house that she didn’t need a light. She pushed open the door to his room and tried to step quietly.

“Hello?” Archie said blearily.

“Shh,” she whispered. “It’s me.”

“Harry?” He sat up and flicked on the lamp. “What time is it?”

She hastily closed the door behind her so the light wouldn’t spill into the hall. “...Four,” she said reluctantly.

“What happened to nine or ten?” Archie asked, baffled. “I tried to wait up for you.”

That was a good question, but Harry didn’t have a good answer. She went with, “I fell asleep. Just let me take a shower and we can sleep a few more hours.”

“What?” Archie whispered back. “You can’t take a shower. Don’t you think Dad will hear the water running and be all, why are you showering at four a.m.?”

Harry frowned. She _really_ needed a shower, and she was not about to just hop in his bed in her current state.

“I’ll tell him I had a nightmare,” she said. “He does think I’m here, right?”

“Yeah.” Archie yawned. “I morphed into you and poked my head out to say goodnight. You’re welcome.”

“Thanks, Archie,” she said.

He looked her up and down and smirked. “How’s Leo?”

“I wasn’t with Leo, remember?”

Archie raised an eyebrow. “Okay, Harry, whatever you say. You may want to cast a few spells after you shower, though, or Dad will have some real questions about the sincerity of our betrothal.”

Harry stared at him, confused, but let it go. She snuck over to the hall bathroom and flipped on the light. When she saw herself in the mirror, she had to hold back a groan.

Archie was right; Sirius would have a lot to say if she emerged from Archie’s bedroom in the morning with certain mouth-shaped bruises adorning her neck. _This is just what I need,_ she thought, clutching the counter with white knuckles. _A reminder of my stupidity._

She forced her emotions down with Occlumency to a placid calm. She couldn't be all raw edges and insecurity right now, when there were more important things for her to worry about. She would make herself clean and collected again, and then she would get a few hours of sleep before breakfast. The Prophet interview was today. 

Harry shed the clothes she’d been wearing since yesterday morning — _not the whole time,_ interjected her mind snidely — and stepped into the shower. She scrubbed the night off her body until she was sure she smelled like soap instead of anything, or anyone, else. 

It was _her_ body, even under Polyjuice, her eyes dry and itchy from sleeping in contacts to imitate her own eye color. It was her body, even with an unfamiliar soreness in the muscles of her hips and thighs. It was her body, no matter who had seen her and touched her and left their mark on her.

Stepping out of the shower, Harry cast a low-level glamour at her neck. She had learned the spell to hide tattoos and birthmarks from the book Leo had given her. The hickeys faded away.

Harry returned to Archie’s room, where he’d turned off the light, and changed quickly into a spare set of pyjamas. She laid next to him on the bed, but she didn't slide under the covers. From his breathing, Archie still seemed to be awake.

“Harry?” he said, confirming her suspicion. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Her gut reaction was no, she absolutely did not want to talk about it. She was still trying to process what had happened. It felt like a dream, but the kind of dream where she would wake up and ask, what _was_ that? Her subconscious should know better.

Then again, if she did want to talk about it at some point, Archie was probably the best choice. Who else? Her mum? She could already hear the lecture. Her dad? Harry’s feelings about Caelum Lestrange were conflicted, at the moment, but she didn’t want him to get _murdered._ Sirius? Ditto, although the murder would double as a prank. Draco and Pansy? Even if she were friends with them as Harry, Pansy would start in on political and social implications, while Draco wouldn't hide his disgust. Leo? She wouldn’t even go there.

“No,” Harry said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Archie said slowly. “But you are all right, right? He didn’t… you wanted…?”

She realized her vagueness was probably making Archie concerned about whether her mysterious encounter was consensual, but he didn’t know if he should come right out and ask. 

“Yes,” Harry confirmed. “I’m really okay. I — I’ll tell you more at some point. I’m just tired.”

Archie patted her arm before rolling over to go back to sleep. Harry made herself take deep breaths, urging the thudding of her heart to slow. She leaned over and rummaged in her bag beside the bed to take a dose of Wattles Warfare, just to be safe. 

With Archie’s soothing presence beside her, Harry fell back asleep.

-O-

[ClClClClClClClCl]

-O-

Caelum sat in the rickety bed, staring blankly through the darkness. Beside him, the divot in the mattress was still warm.

She had left. She had just… left. Before dawn, after everything, Harriet Potter had left. In the middle of their conversation, she had left.

Well, maybe conversation made it sound nicer than it had been.

Caelum buried his face in his hands. He wasn’t sure if he was angry with her or with himself. _Both,_ he thought petulantly, _definitely both_. His mind was buzzing like an antagonistic ward. He felt like he might throw up, but that could have been a lingering effect from the potion he’d consumed last night. Or maybe his mother had been right in her manic spiels, and touching a witch with dirty blood really had tainted him.

How could Harriet run off to Rigel Black? Like, _Bye, Lestrange, had a good time shagging your brains out! Gotta go spend the rest of the night with my fiancé, see ya!_ How was he supposed to respond to that?? 

So he’d lashed out a little bit. Under pressure, he’d always had a killer instinct, a knack for hitting another person where it hurt. But he’d said much worse to her at other times and gotten neutrality or even amusement in return. Then today, she had the nerve to sound upset, to blink those big green eyes like she might _cry_ (but she hadn’t).

And what Harriet said in response… those words had hit him like a Stinging Hex to the face. But they must have been lies, he reasoned. Of course, _of course_ she’d fucked Black. He was her betrothed, and they practically lived together. It was accepted enough that they slept together to make it a suitable excuse for where she’d really been that night. Anyway, she hadn't bled at all. Everyone knew that virgins bled, and that the man could feel it when the woman still had her virtue, and Caelum hadn’t noticed anything. The most probable explanation was that she’d lied to try to make him feel guilty.

Because if she’d been telling the truth, it would mean Caelum had been her first — a terrifying idea.

He made a noise of frustration into his hands. No, he didn’t want to think about Harriet Potter a second longer. In her apartment, in a bed that smelled like her — like potions, like sex, like strangely masculine shampoo — that was easier said than done.

He lurched out of the bed and fumbled over to the living room to find his clothes. He snatched up his robes on the way, discarded when he’d been feverish and soaked through with sweat. A quick Scourgify made them stiff but wearable.

His clothes were scattered around the couch. The memory of how they got there brought a hot flush to his face. _Ridiculous. Pull yourself together,_ he berated himself.

Caelum was nineteen. He’d pulled plenty of girls (always pureblood girls, beautiful girls, experienced girls, girls who didn’t care about potions). True, he’d never spent the night in their beds, never held them in his sleep. They hadn't told him about their deepest fears, cooked dinner with him, or brewed a potion to save him from a deadly illness. Not one of them had been his friend. 

Still, there was no reason to be blushing like a virgin boy about the night he'd had with Harriet Potter before they fought. No reason to dwell on her soft lips, and the callouses on her hands from her stirring rod, and her voice when she said _I want you too_ , and the look in her eyes when she —

Nope. He would cut that shit out right now. 

Caelum scowled at the plates they’d left discarded on the floor. He would _not_ lower himself to wash her dishes. He peevishly hoped the crumbs attracted ants; it would serve her right.

Fully dressed, he considered his options. He could Floo home. The wards would let him in without issue, and his parents would be asleep. If the Fates had any mercy, they'd be asleep.

However, you never knew when Floo records could be traced. He didn’t fancy explaining why he Flooed at 4 a.m. from an apartment in the Lower Alleys — one that was supposedly rented in Harriet Potter’s name, and wasn’t that odd, considering her father's position and the general dodginess of the Alleys? The Potters surely had a lab where she could brew in peace. Anyway, he didn’t want to open that Pandora’s Box if anyone should check the records.

He could go on foot and Floo from the Leaky Cauldron. Caelum wasn’t afraid of walking at will through the Alleys at night; he could defend himself, if anyone dared to try anything. But it was early enough in the morning that Flooing would still be suspicious. 

The best option would probably be to go back to sleep and Floo home from the Cauldron at a reasonable hour. He could claim to have spent the night working in the Guild labs, which he’d done before during his internship. His parents never asked Master Whitaker for an accounting of his whereabouts.

With ill grace, he conceded that the best plan involved going back to sleep until daylight. But what if Harriet came back? His stomach churned at the thought. Part of him wanted to finish their conversation. Part of him was haughtily insisting that he did not care about Harriet or what she had to say. A third part of him was dreading seeing her again, because he had no idea what _he_ wanted to say. How could he know, when every part of him was at war?

From the tone of her voice when she’d stormed out, Caelum doubted she would come back. And his eyes were drooping despite his best attempts to keep them open. He’d been tired for so long, even before he knew he was sick. And the wild night certainly hadn’t helped —

No, no, no. What part of ‘not thinking about it’ didn’t he understand?

His clothes weren’t that comfortable, but he crawled back under the covers in the bed, where their residual warmth eased him back towards sleep. It still smelled like her, _damn_ it all. 

Caelum snoozed for a few hours, until the light through the windows attacked his sensitive eyes. He got up with a groan. In his own bedroom, he had top-quality curtains to alleviate this very issue. Trust Potter to have gauzy, substandard drapes. Useless.

It occurred to him that he must reek of sex and sweat, and his hair was in dire straits. He couldn’t go home like this. Thus, the spectacle of him shuffling from foot to foot in Harriet Potter’s bathroom. Using her shower would be weird, intimate, exposing in a way that unnerved him. But she wasn’t even there. But it was her shower! But she would never know. But it was her _soap._

His desire to be clean won out over the awkwardness. Her water pressure was terrible, although he really should have expected it from the overall state of her flat. It was clean enough, but small and ugly. The neighborhood had been run-down, he vaguely recalled; he didn’t remember much of the walk there through the Lower Alleys. That might become a problem for getting back to the Leaky Cauldron. Lestranges didn’t ask for directions.

He noted that the cheap shampoo stocked in the shower didn't smell like Harriet's hair did, but he quickly diverted his thoughts from _that_ train. There was also no conditioner. That explained a lot.

He cast another Scourgify at his clothes before putting them on, but there was only so much magic could do for wrinkled acromantula silk. He was ready to get the hell out of there. Leaving was an appealing thought. Going home, less so. 

Caelum took a deep breath and fixed his hair in the bathroom mirror. He didn't need to panic. His shirt concealed the lingering marks his night with Harriet had left physically. 

There was no way his mother could know, just by looking, where he’d been. No way she could know what he’d done. Bellatrix couldn’t know that he’d betrayed everything the Lestranges stood for in one glorious, sinful night.

He threw open the apartment door and grudgingly locked it behind him; Harriet didn’t have much worth stealing by any proper standard, but this was the Lower Alleys. She’d taken her potions kit, at least. He trudged down the stairs to the street and flung that door open as well.

It would have hit Lionel Hurst in the face if the other boy hadn’t done a graceful spring backwards. Caelum startled. What was he doing here?

Hurst seemed to be asking himself the same question, as he looked Caelum up and down. Caelum bristled and stepped out into the alley.

“What the fuck do you want?” Caelum asked. If Hurst wanted to start something today of all days, Caelum wouldn’t hesitate to beat the shit out of him. With wands, of course, he wasn’t an animal.

“What are you doing here?” 

Caelum sneered. “Going home. What are _you_ doing here?”

“Funny,” Hurst said faux-lightly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I wouldn’t think the Lestrange scion lived all the way out here in the Lower Alleys.”

“I said I was going home, not that I was already there. What’s your excuse, Hurst? The Aldermaster need you to fetch something from the apothecary like a good little puppy?”

Hurst’s hazel eyes flashed, and Caelum felt a thrill. He loved that moment in a verbal spar when his barb hit just right.

“I live here,” Hurst said. “And I was just coming to check on my _good friend_ Harry, since I heard something interesting from a street kid. It seems you’ve forgotten our little talk.”

Caelum cocked an eyebrow. Hurst had come up to him at a Potions Guild gathering that spring to warn him off Harriet Potter with barely veiled threats. It was clear that Hurst carried a torch for the girl. He'd also seemed worried about her safety, which was fair enough considering the Lestrange reputation. At the time, Caelum had found the confrontation laughable. Standing outside Harriet's apartment in the morning, his skin still damp from her shower, Caelum wanted to laugh for different reasons.

“I haven’t forgotten,” Caelum said coolly. “I stand by what I said: mind your own fucking business.”

“Watch yourself, Lestrange,” Hurst hissed, stepping forward. “If you hurt Harry, I’ll—”

“Try it, I dare you,” Caelum snarled back. They were in each other’s faces now, and Caelum was seconds away from pulling out his wand.

“Okay, boys, let’s calm down now!” Some busybody stepped in. Caelum reluctantly backed off and cast a scornful glance at the old lady. Hurst stepped back too and shook his hair out of his eyes.

“Oh!” the old woman said, clearly taken aback. Damn straight, she should know better than to interfere in a noble’s affairs. Even when the other party was a Book of Copper scoundrel. “I’m so sorry, Majesty! I didn’t see it was you.”

Well, Majesty was a bit much, but at least she knew her place. It was strange that she seemed to be looking more at Hurst as she said it, though.

“It’s no matter, Mrs. Whitlock,” Hurst said stiffly. 

The old woman retreated towards the building across the street, glancing back over her shoulder the whole way. Caelum considered just leaving too, but that would expose his back to Hurst and also make him look like a coward. He crossed his arms defiantly instead.

Hurst glared back. “I won’t ask again. What are you doing here?”

Caelum was tempted to tell the truth. He guessed that nothing would enrage Hurst more, and he knew just what to say to dig the knife in. _Why, I’ve been making your ‘good friend’ moan my name all night long. Isn’t she beautiful when she comes?_ But Caelum had to consider his reputation and his mother’s wrath (and Harriet's good name, said a traitorous part of him). He couldn’t indulge in nettling Hurst. 

“She was brewing a potion for me. Satisfied?” Caelum said disdainfully. There, an innocuous and believable explanation. He squashed the thought that he was going soft.

Hurst glowered. “And that necessitated you entering her apartment at noon yesterday, and not leaving until right now?”

“Are you stalking her? Or me?” 

“I know everything that goes on in these Alleys,” Hurst said, his voice low like he was trying to sound dangerous. 

Please. Hurst was about as scary as a flobberworm. 

Caelum couldn’t help but smirk in response, despite his prior resolution to keep it innocent. "Then you already know why I’m here, and you should stop asking. Unless you want to hear details? I didn’t take you for a voyeur, but maybe she’s a special case—”

Pain exploded in his nose, and he reeled backward. Hurst had _punched_ him. Like a Muggle. Hadn’t even pulled out his wand.

“What the fuck?” Caelum spluttered. “The face, really? What is wrong with you?” Blood, thick and red, oozed down his chin and dripped onto his robes.

“What’s wrong with _you_?” Hurst spat. “Do you even care about her at all?” The other boy shook out his knuckles, glancing past Caelum to where some Alley residents were gathered, and he winced. “Just… go home, Lestrange. Get out of my sight.” 

Caelum clutched his nose. Oh Merlin, it felt broken. There went his plan to Floo from the Leaky Cauldron. He couldn’t show up home already injured, and he didn’t know how to heal broken bones. He could heal minor injuries — from thrown objects and slaps and hexes — but not bones. 

He wished Harry were here. She’d healed that Wizengamot elder from the brink of death, so she could surely pop his nose back in. Then again, if Harry were here, Caelum doubted Hurst would have had the guts to punch him. (If Harry were here, Caelum might have done a better job resisting the urge to taunt Hurst in the first place.)

He normally wouldn’t have hesitated to hex Hurst in retaliation, but a wave of pain and exhaustion made the prospect sound more arduous than any potential payoff.

“You overdramatic moron,” Caelum groaned, still clutching his nose. “Don't you think if I could get home from here, I would?”

Hurst had the nerve to sigh. “You’re lost? Really?”

“I’m not lost,” Caelum said defensively. “I simply don’t recall where to go.”

Hurst’s expression clearly said _that’s what lost is, you dumbass,_ but he didn’t say that aloud. “Fine, dear gods, fine. Go down the street and take a right. Then go left at the King Arthur statue and Maywell Clinic is there. Tell them I sent you. You can get your godawful face fixed and then _get out of the Alleys._ ”

Caelum tried to sneer, but it hurt way too much. “Next time, I’ll curse you back,” he promised. 

Instead of getting the last word, Hurst spun around and stalked off in the other direction.

Grudgingly, Caelum followed the directions to the clinic, ignoring the gawking commoners as he walked. Caelum hadn't seen a Healer in fourteen years.

When he was five years old, he'd had a playdate with the Selwyn daughter, Alesana. Bellatrix had dropped him off and left for more important pursuits. The luncheon included peanut sauce, and young Caelum made an unfortunate discovery. The Selwyns did, luckily, take him to St. Mungo's in time to prevent an untimely death.

That was the first time his mother had slapped him in public. Slaps were to humiliate more than hurt, a sign that he wasn't even worth the magic it would take to jinx him. He'd exposed weakness to the world. The Lestrange Heir was vulnerable now. 

He didn't know what she'd said to the Selwyns, but they never mentioned the incident again. He hadn't been to a Healer since. When he caught a cold or flu, Popsy had taken care of him discreetly in a separate wing of the castle. By eleven, Caelum could brew all the low-level potions he needed. He could take care of himself. 

To his surprise, Hurst hadn’t led him to a trap, but to the real, cheery-looking clinic. It would be safer than St. Mungo's for the very fact that it was intended to serve the lesser-blooded. Word of his seeking treatment wouldn't make it back to his mother. He hoped, at least.

“My nose is broken,” Caelum said shortly to the woman at the front desk. “I’m supposed to say Lionel Hurst sent me.”

“Let me get Healer Hurst,” said the woman with resignation, as if bleeding men came in dropping the younger Hurst’s name all the time. The woman led him to a room to wait. Caelum wasn't accustomed to waiting, but that was the price one paid for anonymity.

Mrs. Hurst did show up after a while. Caelum had met her before, at the same sort of guild gatherings he’d met Lionel Hurst at. Caelum had always been on his best behavior with the two older Hursts. This was partly because Malcolm Hurst was the Aldermaster, but also because Mrs. Hurst was the kind of woman who could make a person regret their entire life with a disappointed shake of her head. 

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Hurst said, with a rueful smile. “I must admit I didn’t expect to see you here, young man. How is your family?”

“They’re well,” Caelum lied. “If you could just heal my nose, I would appreciate it.” He was proud of himself for not flinching when she flicked out her wand. He couldn’t help being on edge — the past 24 hours had been _absurd._

She clucked. “Now, what kind of a spell did this?”

Caelum felt his face heat up. “Punch,” he mumbled.

“Been dueling?” Mrs. Hurst asked. 

“No,” he answered. What an odd follow-up question. Were people _freedueling_ down here? 

As her wand moved, his nose crunched back into place. A numbing sensation followed. Caelum sighed in relief. He’d never been good with pain. His pain tolerance should have gone up, he often mused, after an upbringing like his. But while his ability to work through it improved, the experience of pain itself never dulled.

She raised an eyebrow as she swirled her wand. “I was told that my son sent you.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Caelum said bitterly. “He broke my nose.” There was no reason not to snitch on Hurst to his mother. 

Mrs. Hurst looked taken aback. “I’m surprised to hear that. Leo is not generally given to senseless violence.”

He would have snorted if his nose wasn’t in the process of being healed. “That’s rich.” At her steady look, he dropped his eyes to the floor. Damn her and her all-knowing expression. “Maybe it wasn’t completely unprovoked,” he conceded.

“Hmm, I see.”

“That doesn’t mean I deserved to be hit,” Caelum grumbled.

“No,” Mrs. Hurst said seriously, her wand pausing. “You don’t deserve that, child.”

The comment itself was trivial, but her tone made him stiffen. Maybe his mother was right to be suspicious of Healers, if they always seemed to know so much more than they ought to. Besides, he wasn’t a child; he was nineteen, a grown man.

“I would like to remark to the room at large that Healers are bound by confidentiality, and anyone seeking care is welcome here. For patients over the age of seventeen, there is no obligation to report, but we do have resources for those who are ready to change their situations.” 

He didn’t want her pity or condescension. And he definitely didn’t want to talk to the _Aldermaster’s wife_ about his family situation. It would be humiliating and destroy every chance he had of being taken seriously as a potioneer. What could she do, anyway? He was a Lestrange. His family had power to do whatever they pleased.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said rigidly, intending to do no such thing.

The look on her face said clearly that she didn’t believe him, but like her son, Mrs. Hurst kept some thoughts to herself. It was a talent Caelum had never cared to master.

“When was the last time you saw a Healer?” she asked.

He hesitated. It didn’t project an image of wealth and prosperity for the Lestranges if it were known their son and Heir hadn’t been to a Healer in fourteen years. But it might have been the sort of thing Mrs. Hurst could tell with her damnable intuition or her Healer’s magic, and lying about it would look even worse.

“St. Mungo’s, when I was a young child,” he said eventually.

“Have you felt the need to see a Healer since then?” Mrs. Hurst said.

That sounded like a trap. 

“I’ve received at-home care as necessary,” he hedged. “And I am generally healthy. I haven’t needed professional care.” At her disbelieving look, he found himself adding, “Except for yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” she prompted.

Caelum scowled. Thankfully, it didn’t hurt his nose anymore. Life without scowls and sneers would truly have been empty. “I was very ill yesterday.”

Mrs. Hurst frowned and raised her wand. “We should do a diagnostic, make sure that you’ve recovered from whatever it was.”

He waved her off. “That’s not necessary. It was Wattles Disease, but I—”

Mrs. Hurst had already cast the Bubble-Head charm over his head again before he could react to her wand moving. What was with these Healers and their reflexes?

“You need treatment immediately, Mr. Lestrange,” Mrs. Hurst said, sounding grave. “Wattles is deadly. You don’t seem impaired, but if it’s already been a day—”

He interrupted her. It was heinously rude, but she’d already interrupted him, and he was used to being rude. “I’ve already had Wattles Warfare. I’m completely cured.”

“Did you go to Mungo’s?” she asked, relaxing a little. “I thought you said you hadn’t been to a Healer, my mistake.”

Caelum shook his head, still feeling ridiculous in the Bubble. Yesterday, he hadn’t been aware enough to appreciate how foolish it must look. 

“A… friend brewed it for me. She diagnosed me and had a place for me to stay nearby while she made the potion. That’s how I got here. I don’t normally spend my time in the Lower Alleys.” He wanted to make sure Mrs. Hurst didn’t think he ran around on the regular with these ruffians. Even though her son was one of said ruffians.

She pursed her lips. “Wattles Warfare is a difficult potion. Impressive that your friend could brew it.”

Caelum couldn’t hold back a grin and an inexplicable feeling of pride. “She’s a hell of a potioneer. Begging your pardon for my language, my lady,” he added belatedly.

Mrs. Hurst just looked amused. “Hell of a friend too, it sounds like.” 

“She is.” He swallowed. _My only friend. She saved my life._

“So she took proper care of you? Do you mind if I check again to be sure?” 

He shrugged and allowed her to use a diagnostic spell. It appeared to be the same charm Harriet had cast. She seemed to be pleased with the results, but then set about questioning him further. Caelum assured Mrs. Hurst, multiple times, that he had gone straight to the restaurant and hadn't interacted in close proximity with anyone other than Harriet. He didn’t know where he had contracted it, though. Ultimately, she was satisfied with his answers. 

Mrs. Hurst didn't let him go without a gentle reminder. "I would recommend that you see a Healer regularly. Early mornings on weekdays are very slow, and my staff have tight lips when it comes to anyone who walks in those doors or through the Floo."

Mrs. Hurst gave him directions to the Leaky Cauldron so he could Floo home at last, sans Bubble-Head charm and with the blood carefully cleaned from his shirt.

Maybe Fate didn’t have it out for him as much as he’d supposed, because his parents weren’t even home when he arrived at Dartmoor Castle about 11:30. After they'd had spent all of yesterday having private meetings in the south wing — the reason Caelum had been kicked out and warned not to show his face until evening — they'd left for more mysterious meetings elsewhere. That meant he could brew, or sleep, or wander around the grounds as he chose. Those were the best days: just him, a cauldron, and the house elves. Peace. Safety.

Mrs. Hurst’s voice kept circling through his mind as he ate lunch by himself in the dining room. She had known. Had she known ever since they met, or was it something about the Healing that tipped her off?

When he was a child, he’d longed for his parents’ attention. He’d been paraded at parties, fundraising events, business trips: the baby-faced symbol of the Lestrange legacy. In private, he was only spared a glance when he’d done something wrong. Tutors had taught him history, quizzed him on the political leanings and business connections of pureblood families. His family grimoire had taught him Dark spells and curses, and how to survive them.

Still, he’d craved the approval of his beautiful, fierce mother. Any outsider who posed a threat to her young child would be dealt with, painfully and permanently. But when it was Bellatrix herself who was the threat… there was no rescue forthcoming. Even as recently as a few years ago, he’d wanted to impress his family. Surely, if he could be good enough, talented enough, smart enough, he would earn the right to be loved.

He scoffed aloud at the sentimental thought. As if his mother and father were capable of love. Caelum’s success with Harriet’s Shaped Imbuing method had won their attention at last. But it was like drinking Polyjuice when you’d expected tea; a shock to the system, a searing pain, and a horrendous aftertaste.

Suddenly everyone’s eyes were on Caelum. Rodolphus and Rabastan schemed loudly about how they could profit off the technique and quietly about what their ‘new acquaintance’ would want. They asked for Battle Potions. Since his father and uncle had no understanding of how Shaped Imbuing worked, puzzling through what they wanted was a battle in itself. 

His slowness to invent, the past few months, had earned his family's irritation. They didn’t understand why it was taking him so long. Maybe he was an idiot, good-for-nothing after all, they scoffed. Didn’t he care about the prestige the family would gain?

In the privacy of his own mind, he could admit: he did not. He cared about the recognition of potioneers in general and himself in particular. He wanted the world to see his true talents and be in awe. 

But there was always a small voice in his head, which sometimes sounded like Master Whitaker and sometimes like Harriet, whispering: _Think about the ethical implications, Mr. Lestrange._ Or _Would I want my method used this way, Caelum? Do you know what that spell does?_

Of course he knew.

He hadn't told Harriet, yesterday, what he'd been working on. But she had never asked him to limit what he brewed with Shaped Imbuing. Harriet — kind, naive, impossible Harriet — didn’t want to patent her ideas, didn’t want to brew Coquere Cerebrum even as a test of her abilities. She wanted only to make the world a better place with her invention. The tension ever-present in his stomach when he experimented was disgust at her insufferable goodness. It couldn’t be guilt; it wasn’t allowed to be guilt. 

After lunch, Caelum settled into the comfort of his Potions lab, but he didn’t want to brew. He found himself sitting at his desk, staring at blank parchment.

He knew what he ought to do. He needed to bury all the oozing, raw sentiments that had bubbled up from his encounters with Wattles Disease and Harriet and the Hursts. He needed to stop replaying yesterday over and over like a Pensieve memory. He needed to get back to normal.

Instead, he picked up a quill and wrote a letter. He wrote it twice, because in the first copy, his handwriting faltered. He stopped himself from writing more before undignified phrases could creep into the letter against his will.

After Caelum sent the letter, he went to the library to find a reference Master Whitaker had suggested. He swore he wouldn't brood over Harriet Potter for the rest of the day.

It was the most brazen lie he'd ever told himself.

-O-

[HpHpHpHpHpHp]

-O-

As Archie had anticipated, Sirius was curious about hearing the water running so early in the morning, but he accepted Harry’s nightmare excuse easily enough. The three of them ate breakfast with good cheer. Harry, however, could feel Archie jiggling his leg nervously under the table.

“Ready for your interview today, Arch?” Sirius asked.

Archie ran a hand through his hair. “You bet, Dad. I’ll knock ‘em dead.”

Sirius smiled with fondness. “I’m consulting with James on something this morning, but I can Floo back to accompany you to the Prophet offices.”

“It’s fine,” Archie said casually. “You can meet me there. Harry and I are going to hang out here for a while.”

Sirius shrugged. “Whatever you want, kiddo.” He hugged Archie and waved to Harry before he left. 

She and Archie waited a few minutes just to be sure Sirius wouldn’t come back before they started in on the strategy. They’d discussed it before, but hadn’t come to an agreement. Harry was of the opinion that they should go ahead with a politically charged statement; Riddle already knew Rigel’s political leanings and he’d forced her to compete in the tournament anyway. Let him seethe about what she had to say. Riddle was held to his vow to not support legislation in the areas of healthcare, employment, and marriage. He had refused her request to include education. But Hogwarts didn’t belong to Riddle, and neither did Wizarding Britain. 

Archie was a little more cautious. Harry’s tendency to attract attention was one of the major complications of the ruse. A more diplomatic approach would pull the spotlight off of them somewhat.

“It’s my fault we’re in this mess,” Harry said. “It’s my fault you’re the pureblood poster boy. I told you about what Rosier pointed out — even though Riddle can’t pass the laws, society will move in that direction anyway, if people think Rigel Black winning this tournament proves pureblood supremacy. It’s time to push back.”

Archie groaned in frustration. “I _know,_ Harry, I know. I just wish it wasn’t your soul on the line if things go wrong. The more involved we get in politics, the more dangerous this is.”

“I already have multiple, powerful enemies,” Harry stressed. “Riddle forced me to compete in and win an international tournament. Danger level is pretty much at its peak.” 

“Don’t jinx us,” Archie grumbled.

Eventually, Archie gave in. He helped her get ready for the interview, complete with eye color switch and dress robes that Draco would be proud of. 

Rigel Black would choose a side of the wand, publicly, today. A frisson of fear shot through her — but not of Riddle. She was afraid of what her friends would think. Draco, Pansy, Theo, Millicent, Blaise, even Rookwood and Rosier. She’d asked them not to put themselves in hot water with their parents, with the Party, for her. But when this interview came out, would they still want to be her friends? Would they still be _allowed_ to be her friends?

Draco and Pansy, she felt sure of. The others…

It would hurt her to lose them, she knew, but she would do what she must. Harry had risked everything to go to Hogwarts and learn from Professor Snape. She would do her part to work towards a future where no half-blood would ever have to do what she had done. A future for every potioneer with wild dreams. A future for Addy.

Harry tilted her chin, and in the mirror, Rigel Black’s gaze was bold and unflinching.

Rigel Floo’ed to the Prophet offices ten minutes early, sitting and waiting for Sirius. She’d made certain her aura was suppressed and her Occlumency shields reflected Rigel Black’s mountainscape. Dom had no snarky comment for her when she’d meditated, even though he often had an uncanny understanding of her emotions and experiences out in the world. 

Although, she thought as she waited, perhaps Dom of all people would see Caelum Lestrange’s appeal. Caelum's passion for potions and his ambition, rivaled only by her own, had been the reason she’d gravitated towards him in the first place. His blunt honesty, however cruel, shone sharply against the deceit and lies that made up almost every part of her life. His beauty was a factor too, if she was being honest, and the way he’d made her body ignite. Below it all lurked something less definable: their connection, the way he'd said _I see you, Harriet Potter._ The way she'd believed him.

She gave herself a mental slap. Whatever Caelum's appeal, the whole affair had been ill conceived. She forced herself to recall what else he'd said, only hours later. _Do you spread your legs for every pureblood who comes your way?_

It didn’t matter, Rigel reminded herself. This emotional dithering was precisely the reason she’d avoided romantic entanglements in the past. It was distracting and unnecessary. Long term, she needed to focus on getting through Hogwarts and getting her Mastery. At this very moment, she needed to concentrate on the interview.

Sirius met her with two minutes to spare. Rigel gave him an unimpressed stare. He would only be sitting in the corner, observing as Rigel's legal guardian.

Rigel had been expecting Rita Skeeter or someone similar, but the interviewer was a young woman only a few years out of Hogwarts. She looked a bit like Pansy, with shining golden hair and bright eyes, but Pansy wouldn't be caught dead in such boring business robes.

"Beatrice Carrow," she introduced herself.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Carrow." Rigel gave a little bow, as appropriate to an obviously pureblood young woman, and they sat down at the two facing armchairs.

"The pleasure is all mine," Beatrice said. "Beatrice is fine, or Bea. Now, do you prefer Rigel or Archie?"

"Please, call me Rigel. All my friends do." Rigel smiled and winked, her best pureblood charm on display. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sirius stifle a laugh.

Beatrice smiled back. "Right then, Rigel. Speaking of, there were quite the rumors of potential paramours as well as friendships among the champions. Did a romance bloom between you and any of the other champions?"

“I’m sure most rumors were greatly exaggerated,” Rigel demurred. “I am, after all, already betrothed. I found each of the champions to be talented and worthy on the field of competition.”

Beatrice crossed her legs. “Really? There must have been one competitor who stood out to you.”

“Antiope was the competitor I’d be most likely to lose to if we had to duel again,” Rigel said, steering away from the thorny subject of romance. “Her skill and strategy with both a sword and wand was excellent.”

Bea waved off her comment. “Sure, but that was hardly fair. Wand against wand in a proper duel is one thing, but a sword is essentially freedueling.”

Rigel shrugged elegantly. “Yes, but I used an Alchemy array to scrape out a win. Was that knowledge fair? Nobody expects their blood to freeze in their veins. In fact, I really credit most of my win to my Hogwarts professors. Professor Severus Snape has guided my tutelage since I was a first year and couldn’t even cast a levitation charm. I have greatly benefited from being his apprentice. I would have certainly failed in the floating obstacle course if he hadn’t taught me magic sensitivity.” She ignored the face Sirius was making as she praised Professor Snape.

“Of course,” Bea agreed smoothly. “A good education is invaluable to a young wizard’s development. Now, entering this tournament was arguably the most important decision of your life. What was your thought process? Why did you want to compete?”

“Oh, I didn’t. I absolutely refused. I was approached several times to enter and continued to say no.”

Beatrice leaned in, looking surprised. “What changed your mind, Rigel?”

Rigel took a breath. Pansy, Draco, Aldon, Dumbledore, and Archie of course, already knew. She’d told her family only that it was an opportunity she couldn’t refuse. It was time the world knew exactly where Rigel Black stood.

“Multiple factors,” Rigel said calmly. “But the biggest one is that I was promised something if I was able to win the tournament.”

“What?”

“I was promised that the SOW Party would no longer introduce or support blood status-based legislation concerning healthcare, occupation, or marriage.”

Beatrice started, and so did Sirius. Rigel focused on the young pureblood across from her.

“Why would you care?” Beatrice asked directly.

Rigel tilted her head. “I care because I have friends who are not pureblood. Friends who are more talented than I am. If they are not given equal opportunities, the Wizarding World will deliberately miss out on talent.”

“But if that person is talented enough, they’ll get a job anyway,” Beatrice defended. “I remember hearing your aunt works in spell development, and she’s a muggleborn! Wizarding Britain does appreciate talent, even when it crops up in unexpected places.”

“So, you think Hermione Granger, the Healer from AIM, will have the same opportunities as a pureblood student from Hogwarts?”

Beatrice looked flustered. Rigel felt a little bad for her; obviously, this interview wasn’t going how she expected. 

“You can’t expect someone educated out of the country to be considered when there is a Hogwarts alum applying! Hogwarts is the best school of magic. You proved that by winning the tournament.”

“Hogwarts only offers Healing up to the OWL level,” Rigel pointed out. “The student in question would have little experience, most likely wouldn’t know the difference between a kidney infection and cellulitis. Look, in this one instance, I scored higher than my peers at other schools. If there _were_ a consensus that Hogwarts alums were superior for their education, as you imply — then we’re really shooting ourselves in the foot by limiting the students who have access to those professors.”

“What are you saying, Rigel?” Beatrice asked, evidently resigning herself to whatever angle Rigel was determined to push.

“This division between wizards and witches is unhealthy. It’s hurting us. The reason that marriage laws were proposed in the first place is because the pureblood population is shrinking. We all know it’s true. The emphasis on maintaining purity over ensuring a healthy future for our society has backfired. Purebloods don’t go to school or work with those of ‘lesser’ blood, so of course they won’t get to know each other. Tell me, how many half-bloods and muggleborns do you know?”

Beatrice bit her lip. “I work with two.”

“And what do they do?” Rigel pressed.

The pureblood woman sighed. “They both work in the printing and mailing departments. What do you want us to do about it?”

“We need to recognize how terrible blood-based education has been for Wizarding Britain. How much talent and insight has been lost to America or Australia? How many businesses and inventions would be created with a muggleborn or half-blood at the helm? Hermione Granger of AIM compiled data to determine preliminary risk factors for the Fade and bring us closer to understanding this disease. How many problems won’t get solved because we send people like Hermione away? By barring a whole section of the British population from entering Hogwarts, we are not reaching our full potential. All this is why I’m calling for Hogwarts to once more open its doors to British students of all blood statuses.”

Beatrice looked like she finally understood Rigel’s point. “That is how Hogwarts used to be, it’s true. But what if the students can’t keep up and cause the teachers to slow down? Wasn’t it you who said the education you received at Hogwarts was the reason you won the tournament?”

“You underestimate Hogwarts,” Rigel said fiercely. “We take care of each other. We form study groups, clubs, whatever it takes to help each other succeed. I'll make this promise: I will personally tutor any muggleborn or half-blood student who falls behind in the curriculum, if that’s the real concern. It is time to secure a future for our society. It is time to end educational segregation." She paused. “Readers are welcome to send me owls if they have questions.”

“Of course,” Beatrice said, her brow furrowed. “We are just about out of time — is there anything else you’d like to say, Rigel?” Her expression begged Rigel to say something intriguing but non-political. 

Rigel smiled brightly at Beatrice Carrow. "If anyone was curious, the wizard who swore me the oath was Mr. Riddle."

The pureblood witch visibly winced. "Thank you for your time. The interview should be out by the end of the month.”

Sirius, uncharacteristically silent, took Rigel back to Grimmauld Place.

-O

-o

-O

Harry and Archie switched places in the bathroom. After a quick debrief, she went back to Potter Place somewhat guiltily. Archie was better equipped to put the right spin on the situation, since he and Sirius were so close. 

Harry planned to spend the rest of the day in the lab at Potter Place, working on orders for Krait. She set up an additional cauldron to brew Clark’s Contraceptive Concoction as well. 

For all her jokes with Archie about using a fake pregnancy to let him out of the ruse, she couldn’t afford to really get pregnant. It would wreak havoc on their plans for the future, make the whole facade come crashing down. If she’d been smart, she thought disparagingly, she would have used a contraceptive charm at the time. Then again, if she'd been smart, she could have avoided the whole string of self-destructive decisions.

Harry imbued the potion with plenty of magic and took a full dose. That was one less worry to keep her up at night, but there were plenty more to fill the gap. 

“Harry, there’s an owl for you,” Lily called. Harry heard her footsteps descending the stairs to the lab.

Harry quickly Vanished the rest of the contraceptive in the cauldron before Lily poked her head in. Lily was too good at potions to not recognize that particular brew. 

“Thanks, mum.” Harry’s smile faltered when she glanced at the handwriting.

“Is everything all right, dear?” 

“Of course,” Harry said brightly. “Just thinking about how to incorporate a new ingredient in my base.”

Lily’s gaze seemed too perceptive, but she didn’t say anything. As Lily turned to go, Harry fumbled open the envelope. 

_Harriet—_

_Meet me tomorrow for dinner at the Chinese restaurant down Aroma Alley. I want to talk to you._

_— CL_

She couldn’t hold in an incredulous snort. He had to be kidding. He sent her two sentences, one a demand for her to meet him? No apology, no explanation? She had a strong feeling he didn't want to meet to collaborate on Shaped Imbuing projects.

Harry couldn’t help but notice this was the first letter he'd addressed to _Harriet_ , not _brat_ or _half-blood_ or even _Potter._

That was hardly a peace offering, she thought forcefully. Let him stew and wait for a response that wouldn’t come. He deserved it. Harry wasn’t ready to talk to him yet, when she had done her very best not to even think about the situation. 

Harry suddenly wished that she could talk to her mum. Her eyes followed Lily, about to head back upstairs. It was true that Lily would lecture if she knew certain facts: the lack of precautions Harry had taken, and the sexual partner in question being Caelum Lestrange. Also, Lily couldn’t know about the part where Harry rented an apartment that she'd used for brewing, hiding Merriam Flint, and one illicit sexual liaison. 

The rest of the problem was fair game.

“Wait, Mum,” she said, before she could second-guess herself.

Lily turned back. “Yes, Harry?”

“Do you have a moment?” Harry asked, slumping onto her potions bench.

“Of course,” Lily said. “Remus is with Addy upstairs.”

Harry loved her mum, but she’d never really turned to Lily about something like this before. She wasn’t sure how to proceed. She folded the letter in her hand into smaller squares. Lily didn’t prompt her, just looked at her with expectant green eyes.

“Did you go out with people before dad?” It wasn’t what she meant to ask, but it was what came out anyway.

“I did. I dated at AIM. Had my first boyfriend in my fourth year. You know I wasn’t interested in giving your father the time of day until much later,” Lily said. “Three of the boys I dated were American. I couldn’t resist the accent.”

“Wow, mum, how many were there?” 

Harry’s mother shook her head fondly. “Not so many, dear, don’t look so scandalized.”

“Did you ever regret it?” Harry asked hesitantly. “I mean, did hooking up with them ruin your friendships?”

Lily looked a little scandalized herself. “Hooking up? It was mostly casual dating when I was at AIM — studying together, getting dinner.”

“You know what I mean.” Harry shrugged, willing herself not to blush. 

Again, Lily’s gaze was too penetrating. “Right. No, I didn’t really regret it. Some of the boys I dated, we didn’t click on a personal level, and neither of us had much interest in staying friends. I did date one of my closest boy friends, Michael. We were great friends, but we didn’t make great romantic partners. We remained close friends for a few years after we broke up.”

“How did you know you weren’t great romantically?”

“Good question, Harry,” Lily said thoughtfully. “With some people I dated, I knew right away. With Michael, it was harder. We cared a lot about each other before we ever dated. There were a few issues, which eventually caused our break-up. He wasn’t very supportive of my interests — he got jealous when I spent too much time working on Charms and not enough with him. It didn’t help that he struggled with the subject himself. But instead of communicating his feelings, he took out his jealousy and insecurity on me. He had a hard time opening up in general. I never really knew what he was thinking or feeling until it was too late. Long-term, it was something I couldn’t live with.” 

“Oh,” Harry said, involuntarily drawing a few comparisons in her mind. “That makes sense. And with dad, it was different?"

"Very much so," Lily agreed. "Your father has always supported me. For all his silliness, he is honest and brave, both as an Auror and as a man. We see each other as we are, and we love each other even more fiercely in light of it."

"That's beautiful, mum." 

“What brings up these questions, sweetheart?” Lily asked. “Did you meet someone? I’ve never heard you mention a boy from AIM.”

“You could say that,” Harry said, although Caelum was about the furthest thing from an AIM student there was.

“Did he kiss you?” Lily asked, smiling a little. 

"Yeah." Harry looked down at her boots. "I — I thought he fancied me, but then afterwards we had a fight and he said some awful things to me.”

That was Harry’s most mum-friendly way of phrasing what had happened. She wondered if it were true — had she really thought Caelum fancied her? She'd thought their friendship on steady ground after she'd saved his life, but she hadn't expected it to go further. That night, there had been a charged tension in the air between them, like magic imbued in a runic array. And he’d kissed her. 

At the time, she’d been going through her own reasoning. Safe for ruse, check; safe for personal and professional reputation, check; safe for heart, check. That last one might have been checked too hastily. 

But she hadn’t considered why Caelum wanted her in the first place. She knew enough about relationships to recognize that just because Caelum wanted to have sex with her, it didn't mean he fancied her or even liked her. As confused as she was about her own feelings, his were even more of a mystery.

“Did he apologize for what he said?” Lily said.

Harry snorted. “I’m not sure he’s ever apologized in his life.”

“And you like this boy?” Lily raised her eyebrows. 

“I don’t know,” Harry said, and she thought that was true enough. “He’s my friend, and I care about him, I do know that. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do now."

“Well, maybe you should take some time to think about how you feel. There’s usually no one ‘right thing’ to do. It’s about what makes you happiest. And there’s no rush to decide your future forever.” 

Harry held back a wince. She’d decided her future at eleven years old. 

At the time, she hadn’t considered the role sex and romance would play in the future she’d gone to such lengths to construct. For years, she’d pushed away the idea. A relationship would only interfere with her dreams of Potions Mastery. But did it have to conflict? Would it be impossible to find someone who not only supported her potions, but also contributed to her success? A friend and a lover. A partner in all things.

Vivid images flitted through Harry’s mind: she and Caelum, twisted up in her sheets, debating the advantages of grinding versus shredding moth wings. Caelum kissing her every time she agreed with him. Harry jumping out of bed after amazing sex to scribble down a new idea. Two bedside tables covered in potions journals.

 _Unrealistic,_ she told herself. Faint fantasies from another life — a life where it didn’t matter that she was a half-blood, a life where she wasn’t lying to the world with every breath. 

“I see you have a lot to think about,” Lily said with a soft smile. “I need to go check on Addy, but I’m always here for you, Harry.” She left Harry sitting by herself, blinking numbly.

Harry brewed all evening, letting the warm simmer of the cauldrons ease away the chill. She wanted her potions to fill the emptiness. They always had before.

-O

-o

-O

Archie received a letter of his own on Harry’s birthday, which he revealed to the family after presents had been distributed and cake eaten. The adults traded grim glances.

The past few years, the Malfoys had scheduled their annual garden party to coincide with Draco’s birthday earlier in the summer. This year, Lucius and Narcissa had scheduled the party to coincide with the birthday of their honorary son, Rigel Black, on August 3rd. The party would double as a tribute to his Tournament win. Sirius hadn’t checked the mail again, so this was news, but Draco’s letter came in time to emphasize the cruciality of Rigel’s attendance.

For the first time, Harry had an invitation to the garden party in her role as Rigel’s fiancee. Lily and James were listed as well — Narcissa must have guessed correctly that they wouldn’t allow Harry to attend without them, Split or no Split. Unlike the gala, the garden party had no excuse of being a fundraiser. But with Harry as Rigel’s betrothed, rejecting the invitation wasn’t a viable option.

“I don’t know that they’ll be as keen to have us after the interview comes out,” Sirius pointed out. 

After Archie’s talk with Sirius, none of the adults asked Archie any more questions, at least not that Harry knew. But from their serious faces, it seemed they’d already discussed it amongst themselves. 

“It’ll be too late for them to cancel,” James said, a little too gleefully. “They’ll have to suffer through having Arch as the guest of honor after he came out and defied Riddle to all of Britain.”

Archie’s grimace indicated he was not as big of a fan of that idea. 

“I don’t think Harry should go.” Lily tapped her fingers on the table, her face worried.

“You and Uncle James are invited too. And I wouldn’t let anything happen to Harry,” Archie reassured her.

“Want more cake,” Addy interjected. She was pouting cutely. Addy, at two and a half, preferred to be the center of attention at all times. 

Harry slid an extra slice over to the toddler, who dug in with both hands.

Remus looked thoughtfully at Archie. “You haven’t practiced dueling much this summer. From what I saw in the tournament, you improved a lot from our last practices. Sure you can protect Harry better than she can?”

Harry silently cursed the magical screens that had broadcasted the tasks to the world. At least her family had stopped attending the tasks themselves at her request. Archie was a talented Healer, but not nearly as talented a dueler.

“There will be no need for dueling at the garden party,” Harry said, channeling Professor McGonagall’s sternest manner. “We will all be on our best behavior.”

“Of course,” James agreed readily.

Harry narrowed her eyes at James and Sirius’s solemn nods. “Mum?”

Lily sighed, looking away from Addy’s cake-smeared face. “Yes, dear, I’ll keep an eye on them. We won’t burn any bridges.”

“No bridges that Archie hasn’t already torched, at least,” Sirius said.

The rest of her birthday dinner passed without incident, as did the next day. Like she had all week, Harry mailed in her orders to Krait instead of going into the Alleys in person. She justified the decision by telling herself that working on new first aid kit potions was her priority. 

She could have brewed at her apartment, but she didn’t.

On the second day of August, Archie Flooed over to Potter Place, shaking a copy of the Prophet and grinning. “I’m famous!”

Harry gave her cousin a fond look. “Oh, like you weren’t already. The interview’s out, then? How is it?”

“It’s better than I expected,” Archie said cheerfully. “Much better than that drivel the Skeeter woman wrote about the Sickness. Seems like they quoted you accurately, and even did some research on job acceptance rates. You come off a bit young and naive, though, the way they’ve framed it. Nothing that mentions Riddle by name, either.”

Archie handed over the paper so Harry could read it herself. They’d used a publicity photo from the tournament, which made Rigel look more dashing than she’d felt at the time. 

“I didn’t think she would include the part about Riddle,” Harry admitted. “But you’re right. This looks good.”

“Do you think it’ll actually convince any purebloods?”

“Not people like the Lestranges,” Harry said, thinking of Bellatrix and determinedly not thinking of Caelum. “But I hope it’ll help sway those who don’t have a vested interest, and those Neutral and Dark families who don’t agree with every word that Riddle says. At the least, I hope it’ll spark some discussions and some reconsideration. Has anyone sent you an owl yet?”

Archie shook his head. “Not yet. You should be the one to answer, anyway. You know way more about magical theory and affinities and blood politics than me.”

Archie gave his stamp of approval to the outfit Rigel was planning to wear the next day. For himself as ‘Harry,’ he had selected a set of her dress robes. They were a light green, feminine but not as scandalous as his Yule Ball getup.

“Before we go tomorrow, there’s some context you need,” Harry said, biting her lip. “I don’t _think_ it’ll be an issue, but if you don’t know, it would be really obvious you weren’t me…”

“Spit it out, Harry,” said Archie, amused.

She sighed. “Remember that thing I didn’t want to talk about?”

“Uh, yes, I sure do. Do you want to talk about it now?”

“Not really,” Harry said truthfully. “But you have to know.”

“Why?” Archie asked, looking puzzled. “Leo won’t be there, will he?”

Harry huffed. “What is everyone’s obsession with Leo? As you so masterfully deduced, I did spend the night with someone, but it wasn’t Leo.”

“I knew it! Who then? Malfoy?” Archie was obviously going through all of her male friends and coming up blank. “Nott?”

“No,” she said. “Look, the person probably won’t even be at the party. I just want to make sure that if they _are_ , you’re not blindsided. If anyone tries to talk to you alone, just make an excuse and run away.”

Archie snapped his fingers. “It was Aldon Rosier, wasn’t it? I knew there was something going on there.”

“Please stop guessing. I’d really rather not say. You and I are still betrothed, so you can just stay close to me and avoid confrontations.”

“Nuh-uh.” Archie shook his finger at her in reproach. “I refuse to spend the whole time avoiding a yet-unnamed lover of ‘mine’. My life is complicated enough, and I have never asked to be part of a love triangle. If you want to play games, you’ll have to be yourself. Or just go as Rigel, and I’ll stay home.”

Archie had a point. She felt guilty dragging him into yet more complications, all because she’d made one reckless decision. 

“That won't work. All of our parents already agreed to go, and it’s your _birthday,_ even if it is at the Malfoys’. But I still don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be Rigel,” Harry worried. “The resonance is masked, but Riddle may try to trap you. It's safer if I go as Rigel.”

“We can do this,” Archie said firmly. “I am the real Arcturus Black, remember? After we graduate, we’ll be switching back permanently. I’ll have to be me around people who know “Rigel” for the rest of my life, so I might as well get some practice in."

Harry blew out a breath. “You're right. Just avoid Riddle completely. If he approaches you, turn around and leave the area. He knows how Rigel feels about him already, so it doesn’t matter if you’re rude. The Malfoy gardens are large; he can’t chase you all over without looking like a fool. That’s the last thing he wants right now.”

“Got it.” Archie gave her a thumbs up. “A party at the Malfoys’ where I have to run away the whole time, can’t wait!” 

Harry proceeded to fill Archie in on everything else from the tournament that might be relevant. They'd talked in the mirrors, but he didn't know everything — her interactions with other champions, the arguments Riddle had used to try to convince her to enter and later to sway her to his side, the Rod of Zuriel, and so on. They talked until dinner. Archie needed to be prepared for whatever the next day brought.

After she went to bed that night, talons rapped on her window. Grumbling, she got out of bed and untied the letter. The owl seemed to be waiting for a reply, but Harry shooed it out the window anyway.

Caelum’s second letter said only:

_Can we please talk?_

Harry flopped back in bed. After the party, she promised herself. After the party, she would be ready to face the coming confrontation. After the party, she would be ready to stop hiding from the inevitable.

She fell asleep with Caelum’s letter still in her hand, and still on her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all thought conversations meant Caelum and Harry would talk to EACH OTHER? Don't worry, they'll meet again in part 3.  
> Many thanks to CasualPeruser aka ergonomicfloor for betaing; the interview wouldn't have come together without them!


	3. self-destruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After an obscene amount of hours spent writing and rewriting, here it is! Hope you all like dialogue, because you're getting dialogue. Explicit language and some NSFW descriptions in this part. 
> 
> Many thanks again to ergonomicfloor for help with brainstorming and betaing!

**PART 3: self-destruction**

The morning of the Garden Party dragged on and on.

Unlike the other times Harry had attended the party, she would be going as herself, so there was no need to trick the adults while she and Archie switched places. Riddle’s magic was safely trapped inside Dom, her aura and Legilimency shields reflected Harriet Potter, and Archie had suppressed his own aura and put on serviceable shoes. After far too long surrendering to her mother’s charmwork, Lily deemed Harry presentable. Everything was in place for an uneventful birthday party. But she never had that kind of luck.

They left together from Grimmauld Place — first Sirius and Archie, then Lily, James, and Harry. Remus hadn’t been invited, so he’d stayed to watch Addy. Harry waved a sad good-bye to her little sister, wishing she could stay to play water balloons instead of playing politics. When Harry tumbled through the Malfoy Manor Floo, Lily already had her wand out to fix Harry’s hair. 

As a group, they went out through the drawing room to the gardens. Archie led the way as confidently as if he’d actually been the one to attend in the past. Thank Merlin she’d given him directions last night.

Harry tried to see the gardens with fresh eyes. Below the white stone patio, the lawn spread out, grand as ever. The table at the bottom of the steps was piled with presents, although the pile was still smaller than it had been for Draco’s 12th and 13th birthday parties. Maybe because of their early arrival? She hoped Draco wouldn’t be mad at Rigel for stealing his spotlight this year. Or for dragging his family’s political party through the mud in her interview for a national newspaper. Or, worse, doing said interview without asking for his input.

It did seem a safe bet that Draco would be mad when she laid it out like that. 

The crowd was still small, since Lily had insisted they should arrive early. The Malfoys walked up, Narcissa leading the way in gorgeous lilac robes. Draco trailed a step behind his parents. He wasn’t smiling. But he wasn’t pouting or scowling, either, so Harry supposed he couldn’t be too furious.

“Rigel, happy birthday,” Narcissa said, smiling fondly at Archie. “And a belated happy birthday to you as well, Miss Potter.”

Harry blinked in surprise. She wouldn’t have guessed Narcissa knew _her_ birthday had been only a few days prior. “Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.”

They all exchanged polite greetings. Even Sirius seemed to be on his best behavior. Draco said something quietly to Archie that Harry couldn’t catch. 

“Come, we should have you greet the early guests,” Narcissa said. “They’re all very eager to meet the Triwizard Champion.”

Archie’s smile was less stiff than Harry’s would have been; he hadn’t been there to see what the tournament had taken from the competitors. He hadn’t heard the crunch of Hermione’s body under Owens’ _flipendo,_ hadn’t been crushed under a Shrinking Ward, hadn’t fought his way deliriously up a tower. He knew the facts, as she'd told them, but he didn't _know._

“Come on, Harry.” Archie offered Harry his arm gallantly. She felt silly resting her hand on his elbow, playing the part of the pureblood lady she wasn’t.

Sirius and James seemed to be having a conversation with just their eyes, until James piped up. “I see a few friends from the Ministry I’d like to say hello to. Lily and I will catch up with you later.” He gave a small bow to the Malfoys before he and Lily headed off.

Harry expected they would stick tight to her side, but they must have felt safe enough leaving her with Sirius and Archie. Maybe they thought their presence would throw Archie off his politics game. Or maybe they really did want to talk to some of the other attendees — she could see Madam Marshbanks and a few other Light-affiliated purebloods were already there.

Harry did her best to smile and look charming as the Malfoys escorted her, Archie, and Sirius around the party. The guests, most of whom she recognized from previous summers or from the New Year’s Gala, were keen to congratulate Archie on “his” performance in the tournament. They treated Sirius, as Lord Black, with varying degrees of obsequiousness. The same guests were rigidly polite to her. But as their group flitted onward to greet other guests, she heard murmurs behind them.

Of the other champions, she was surprised to see Jacob Owens. As far as she could tell, he was the only muggleborn at the party besides Lily. He was very cold to Archie — it seemed he hadn’t forgotten his humiliating defeat in the last task — and he dismissed Harry with a haughty glance. 

Krum’s presence was easier to explain. He was a pureblood, and she’d heard rumors he was making waves internationally for his Quidditch acumen. Good for him. 

Fleur Delacour was there too, glorious in robes of pale gold, with her long hair shining in the sun. It was odd that she’d come; she’d seemed fed up with Britain and with their Dark society by the end of the tournament. Harry wondered if Riddle had manipulated her into it — maybe hoping Fleur’s beauty would convince some young Heirs that marrying half-bloods was a decent prospect, law or no law. Sousa and Antiope, the other half-blood competitors, weren’t there. Neither were Hermione or Tahil. Or Feiyan.

While they trundled around the gardens, Harry kept a wary eye out for Riddle, ready to advise Archie to beat a retreat. He must have arrived, as the grace period between “on time” and “unforgivably late” drew to a close. 

But he did not approach.

-O-

[ClClClClClClClCl]

-O-

Caelum hadn’t been to the Malfoys’ Summer Garden Party in years. 

For one, Caelum hated playing nice with his cousin, Draco Malfoy. Draco was a whiny brat as a baby and remained one at fifteen. Also, Aunt Narcissa disliked Caelum immensely, even though her good manners kept her from expressing it outwardly. Caelum wasn’t sure if her dislike stemmed from his treatment of her son or if it was just a clash of opposing personalities. And of course, there was the reason that Caelum avoided _most_ social gatherings: he detested reprising his role as The Perfect Pureblood Heir.

If Bellatrix cared about the Garden Party, Caelum would have been dragged along each year no matter how much he hated it. Her whim was law in the Lestrange household. But she didn't care, and she often didn’t attend herself. The Garden Party wasn’t as important as the New Year’s Gala, when everyone who was anyone attended the “fundraiser” and Caelum had to show his face for the glory of the Lestranges. Plus, a little known fact: Bellatrix Lestrange hated summer. She sweated like a horse in the humidity, especially in her favorite black robes. 

This year, however, was different. Caelum’s mother had lit the Malfoys’ invite on fire, but not before Caelum saw that the party would be a celebration for Rigel Black _._ A few days later, with a mysteriously unburned invite in hand, Bellatrix had told Caelum and Rodolphus that the whole family would be attending after all. 

Caelum hadn’t argued. And he hadn’t argued when Bellatrix made him change dress robes three times because he looked like a _slob._ He’d argued a little about the family’s blatantly insulting gift of a jar of Floo Powder. Being overly agreeable would set off alarm wards in Bellatrix's head if she noticed.

They’d arrived early enough to the party that Bellatrix was able to pull a host, his uncle Lucius, aside to converse without causing a scene. Caelum hadn’t bothered to eavesdrop. Whatever the SOW Party was up to, he didn't want to know.

Two glasses of fairy wine, a dozen sneers from his mother, and nine fake platitudes later, Caelum found himself standing by Bellatrix at the edge of the large crowd. His father and his uncle had gone off, probably to accost an unsuspecting business acquaintance. Bellatrix looked bored. That was always a dangerous sign. 

“Is that the Potter bitch?” she said, sounding disgusted. “I can’t believe Cissy would allow such filth on the grounds — it was bad enough that Rose Parkinson let her into the gala. Those two are vile.”

“Who?” Caelum swiveled his head so fast that his neck cracked. He held in a sigh when he saw Lady Potter, with Harriet nowhere in sight. “The mum and daughter?”

Bellatrix’s lip curled. “No, the _Head Auror_ and his Mudblood wife. Never officially met their whelp, although I’m sure she’s vile as well. Engaged to your _cousin_ Arcturus _._ How the House of Black has fallen.”

Caelum nodded and put on a perfunctory sneer. But his heart clenched. It took him a moment to realize why.

Harriet had talked about his mother, hadn’t she? That afternoon after she’d brewed Wattles Warfare for him, before everything _else_. She'd mentioned hearing Bellatrix ask her something horrible — again? Something about getting rid of him for good? He couldn’t recall the exact wording. It was, without a doubt, something his mother _would_ say, so he hadn’t questioned it at the time. 

But now, his mother claimed never to have spoken to Harriet. Why would either of them lie about that? Bellatrix was a liar, but only when she had something to gain. And Harriet…

Caelum had to admit that he had no idea why or when Harriet lied. He only knew that she did, and not the little white lies of polite society. She’d held back, when they talked that night, but what she had said rang true (ironically). 

Harriet was enough of a liar that she was _afraid_. She was afraid not just that her family and friends wouldn’t like the person underneath it all — she was afraid that she would lose herself in the lies.

Normal teenage girls lied, of course, he'd known enough of them at Durmstrang. They lied about breaking curfew or having boyfriends, about whether they liked someone’s shoes or whether so-and-so was annoying. But they didn’t tell the kind of lies that carried fear like a thundercloud. Normal teenage girls weren’t afraid of being _consumed_ by their own lies, of being buried alive by them.

Would it kill Harriet to be normal, for once in her outrageous life?

Caelum excused himself from his mother’s presence. She didn’t say anything, just gave him her best disdainful look: the one that promised repercussions if he did anything to shame the family. What else was new?

He snatched another glass of wine from a circulating waiter, automatically scanning the goblin-made crystal for smudges. Getting drunk might have made this event less tedious — but he’d already applied his wine-vanishing enchantment, and even if he hadn’t, he didn't care to invite his mother’s wrath by making a fool of himself in front of everyone

Caelum wandered through the swarm of people, avoiding the buttoned-up Ministry officials and the simpering old ladies. He spotted Draco Malfoy and hurriedly turned away. Near the refreshments table, he finally found someone worth his time. 

"Cousin Regulus, a pleasure to see you," Caelum said. 

Spouting canned cordialities felt more like inhaling undercooked dillysprout fumes, in Caelum’s opinion. But he genuinely was pleased to see Regulus Black. While actually his first cousin once removed, Regulus was more of an uncle to him than Rabastan ever had been.

Regulus was a master with wards and a powerful wizard. But more than that, Regulus had never seen Caelum as just a symbol of the Lestrange legacy. He'd seen Caelum as a boy with potential, with ambition, with dreams. Regulus had even bought a young Caelum his first potions kit. 

Regulus turned to face him and smiled ever-so-slightly. “You look well, Caelum. How is your work with Master Whitaker?”

Caelum, eager to talk to a family member who actually gave a shit about him, delved into his recent accomplishments. He avoided mentioning Shaped Imbuing or the Battle Potions his parents had asked him for. Regulus never talked much about his work due to privacy concerns, but he did say he’d been collaborating with a Runes Mistress on the creation of a new ward scheme.

As they talked, they both scanned the crowd. Situational awareness never hurt anyone, and it was prudent to know who was in attendance if one wanted to seek out (or avoid) another conversational partner. Caelum tried very hard not to look like he was searching for anyone in particular. Because he _wasn’t._

Oh, but there she was.

Harriet Potter stood by the gazebo, beside Lord Black and her betrothed. She looked less like Rigel Black’s twin than usual. Her hair was spelled longer and arranged in graceful black curls. In pastel mint dress robes, cinched at the waist to emphasize her dainty curves, Harriet looked like she belonged. 

Caelum couldn’t help remembering how Harriet had looked without any robes at all, straddling him in her wobbly bed. Her head had been thrown back, short hair tousled, and she’d bit her rosy lip like — _No, nope, terrible idea,_ he realized immediately. Lucky his own robes were voluminous.

Caelum took a hasty gulp of chilled white wine, the coldness lingering on his tongue before vanishing. Oh _no_ , Regulus had asked him something. And the older man was now staring at him penetratingly. 

“Could you repeat that?” Caelum asked, with growing dread. He never got distracted when talking to his favorite relative. This was all Harriet’s fault!

Instead of repeating whatever he’d said, Regulus followed Caelum’s gaze unerringly. Caelum thought he heard his cousin mutter, “ _You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,"_ but he must have imagined it. Regulus never swore. 

“I see the birthday boy has arrived,” Caelum ventured.

Regulus sneered. “Indeed.” 

Caelum and Regulus were both unabashedly watching the group now. Caelum took a tiny step forward, but stopped himself. He couldn’t just walk up to Harriet in full view of her parents, _his_ parents, and all of society. He had no legitimate excuse to explain why he had to talk to a half-blood, Light-affiliated girl who happened to be his cousin’s fiancee. _Ugh,_ horrific to even think about. 

And even if he did go up to them, what could he do? Confront Harriet about ignoring him? Challenge Rigel Black to a duel? Swing Harriet into a tango dip and kiss her? 

When Caelum's ideas became that outlandish, it was a sign he shouldn’t act on any of them. A sign he typically ignored, sure, but maybe discretion was called for this time. The last thing he needed was to get punched in the face again, and Black _would_ be so vulgar.

Lord Black was saying something, gesturing toward the sky, as Rigel Black slung an arm around Harriet’s shoulders and grinned widely. Caelum clenched the stem of his wineglass.

“Who do they think they’re kidding?” Regulus scoffed.

Caelum glanced over at his cousin. “What do you mean?” 

“My nephew, trying to lend credence to that farcical engagement by acting the besotted fool,” Regulus said, still staring at the duo. “Like the world doesn’t know it’s to protect the Potter Heiress and give her undeserved social standing. She’ll be a terrible Lady Black.”

If Caelum’s wine hadn’t been enchanted to vanish, he might have choked on the drink he’d just taken. As it was, he made an unattractive coughing noise. Regulus’s gray eyes flickered back to him.

“Yes, I completely agree,” Caelum said as smoothly as he could manage. “The whole scheme is laughable.”

Regulus harrumphed. “I should have expected my brother would have them wed. It will certainly cement their connection to the Potters. But if Rigel is going to marry for status, he could do infinitely better.”

Caelum had to exercise rare restraint to not snap back like a wild Crup. _Black_ could do better? Black, the naive little brat? Sure, he’d won that stupid tournament, but whatever cheap skills he possessed couldn’t hold a candle to Harriet’s. Black could never compare to Harriet — her genius with potions, her clever mouth, her burning loyalty. And Black didn’t even _love_ her? 

Except… Rigel Black was a pureblood and Harriet was a half-blood. Automatically inferior, intrinsically tainted. So said the ideology Caelum had been raised with, the basis of the SOW Party, the bedrock of his own family legacy. Was he forgetting that?

(Did he believe that?) 

-O-

[HpHpHpHpHpHp]

-O-

Even in the shade of the gazebo, the heat had crept up on her. Sirius had wandered a few feet away, talking animatedly with her parents and some elderly witches. Millicent had come to say hello, and she’d waved off Archie’s invitation to join the conversation. He could handle Millicent. At the refreshment table, she downed an entire glass of ice water, then turned to scan the crowd. 

Harry noticed a welcome sight amid the masses. Snape wore black, sweeping robes, even in the summer. He held a cold glass at a stiff angle, a buffer between him and the crowds if his resting expression of abject disapproval failed to do the trick. 

“Master Snape,” Harry greeted, walking straight up to him. She always felt nervous talking to him as Harry, although she tried not to let it show. She was his apprentice in her own right, she reminded herself. Even if Professor Snape knew too much for her to fully relax. 

Snape nodded to her, his scowl easing slightly. “Miss Potter. How has your project progressed since last we spoke?”

“Progress has been consistent,” she said with a smile. “I am on track to have complete prototypes of at least twenty potions for the first aid kit by the end of the summer. I had an idea, actually, about how to administer a few of the potions. It’s novel in the wizarding community, but so is Shaped Imbuing.”

Before she could begin her explanation of needles and how they’d work for her purposes, their conversation was interrupted.

“Master Snape… Potter.”

Harry blinked. It was surreal to see Caelum there, under the bright August sun. He could have been just another dark-haired pureblood; he certainly looked haughty enough. His dress robes, a cobalt that brought out the astonishing icy-blueness of his eyes, probably cost more than a year’s rent on her apartment. 

It was a stark contrast to Caelum as she’d last seen him: tucked into the cheap covers on her messy bed, all pale skin and flushed cheeks and ruffled hair. 

It had felt like a strange dream, after she’d come back to Grimmauld Place in that curious hour of the morning when nothing quite seemed real. But it _had_ been real. Brewing Wattles Warfare, cooking dinner, having sex for the first (and second) time. Falling asleep in his arms and storming out after his insults. It had all been real. And now it was impossible to ignore.

Harry was used to the vertigo of having a secret life, well accustomed to the eeriness of pretending distance from someone in public when she knew that person intimately. When she met Caelum’s blue eyes, there was the same flash of understanding sometimes present in Archie’s. The one that said: _No one knows, but I know._

Severus stared at Caelum for a moment before seeming to place him. “Lestrange,” he acknowledged. 

Caelum nodded back. “Pardon me, Master Snape, but are you discussing your forays into the Shaped Imbuing method?” 

Snape raised an eyebrow. “We are. I suppose you would be familiar with the method due to your internship at the Guild.”

“Actually, I taught Caelum here how to Shaped Imbue. He was a diligent student.” Harry smiled, saccharine sweet.

“Not a student. It was more of a creative partnership.” Caelum’s gaze was far too intense for polite company.

Harry held back a wince. They were supposed to be potions-making acquaintances who traded mild insults. Caelum was _not supposed_ to look at Harry like he wanted to shove her against a wall and rip her clothes off. There was no possibility Snape wouldn't notice that. 

“He calls me Professor Potter and everything,” Harry said, deadpan. “I almost awarded points to Slytherin.” 

“You know I wasn’t a Slytherin,” Caelum snapped. 

At least she’d succeeded in distracting him from staring. If this was his attempt at subtlety, she had to doubt he’d be a Slytherin in any universe.

Snape, whose lip curled when she said ‘Professor Potter,' cleared his throat. 

That seemed to remind Caelum of the conversation’s ultimate purpose, and he turned back to Snape. “Right, sir, so I also know how to Shaped Imbue and I’d be interested in hearing about your current projects. Potter here has been remarkably _tight-lipped_.” 

“My apprentice and I decided discretion was for the best,” Snape said slowly. “Miss Potter had a variety of ideas that bore further investigation before being bandied about to the public.”

Caelum did a poor job hiding his offense at being the ‘public’. Then, after a beat: “Your apprentice?”

Snape’s expression didn’t change much, but Harry could guess what he was thinking. _You know this arrogant kid well enough to teach him your method, but you haven’t told him you’re my apprentice?_

“Rigel and I are both apprenticing with Master Snape,” Harry said reluctantly. She was proud of her apprenticeship, but her friendship with Caelum was already rocky. If he got jealous, that would only make it worse.

“Of course you are,” Caelum said, with an exhale almost like a laugh. “Of course you and _Black_ are both _already apprenticed_. To Master Snape. Together.”

Harry smiled tightly. “Indeed. We are very fortunate to learn from his expertise and many talents.”

Snape, who detested flattery of any kind, shot her a sour glance. “Potter, we can discuss your progress later in the week at the Guild, if you’d prefer to talk with your… companion.” 

Caelum looked beseechingly at Harry. Harry, although still annoyed with him, took pity. Their personal troubles aside, Caelum really was a good potioneer, and he wanted to learn.

“If you don’t mind, sir, we could talk about it together. Lestrange is the only other person to have mastered the method to my knowledge. It could be useful to have his input — just on the basic ideas, you know. I’m not planning to patent the process.”

“It’s your technique, Miss Potter.” 

Snape didn’t sound thrilled. She wondered what he thought of Caelum Lestrange. Snape had likely been unimpressed by Caelum’s own research for the Guild internship, since the Potions Master was the leading Wolfsbane expert. She had to admit she had no idea if they’d ever interacted outside of the student showcase. Probably yes — Caelum’s parents were high-up in the Party, as was Snape, and they shared a similar acerbic tongue and disregard for social niceties. 

She turned to Caelum, still doing her best to act casual. “I’ve been working on Healing Potions, specifically,” she explained. “There are many Healing spells that don’t have a Potions equivalent, but Shaped Imbuing can make Healing more accessible. Potions could be purchased and self-administered in emergency situations instead of requiring a St. Mungo’s visit.”

She did not mention blood-based wards or any of her other ideas. Healing was the most palatable. Surely Caelum of all people, Mr. ‘I’ll die on the street instead of going to a Healer’, would appreciate her first aid kit. But apparently not.

“Of course you’d pick Healing. You’re so altruistic. Just going around, saving lives indiscriminately,” Caelum said, scowling.

Harry bit her lip against a retort: _Does that make you feel less special?_ Snape was still eyeing them both, with a calculating expression that made her nervous. She pasted on another fake smile.

"That's me," she said. "I'm hoping the potions I've worked on can do a lot of good in the world."

"Which potions have you progressed with since our last meeting?" Snape asked.

"Lots,” Harry said, her smile coming more easily now. “I can give you a full list and samples next time we meet. _Reparifors_ and _Laevopremo_ have been two of my main focuses this month. This week, I also finished up _Vulnera Sanetur_ , which took very well to Shaped Imbuing, especially with dittany as the key ingredient in the base."

"How wonderful that you've had all this _free time_ for experimentation," Caelum said.

"Yes, I have no major commitments this summer other than this project and working under Master Snape," she lied. In reality, she was still brewing for Krait and had taught another potions class in the Lower Alleys. Avoiding confrontation was a full-time job on its own. One she evidently deserved to be fired from, after this past week.

“Dittany was a suitable choice for _Vulnera Sanetur_ ,” Snape said, pulling the conversation back to Shaped Imbuing. “Did you consider using bloodroot in the base?”

Harry nodded. “I did, but I thought the dittany would better complement the function of the spell to knit wounds. While bloodroot would help the patient replenish blood lost in the injury, there are already Blood Replenishers on the market that could function similarly, and I don’t anticipate any negative interactions between the two potions.”

Snape nodded thoughtfully. “I will look over the ingredients list, but I believe that will be something to test in clinical trials.”

"Have you thought about who's going to brew all this?" Caelum asked her, frowning. "After clinical trials. Are you going to be a one-woman replacement hospital, solve the world’s problems single-handedly? Master Snape, I assume you're working on many other projects and can't devote yourself to brewing hundreds of Healing potions for mass distribution."

Snape inclined his head slightly.

"And I'm the only other one who can Shaped Imbue," Caelum added. 

It was true, but he didn’t have to sound so smug about it. 

“You’re welcome to join me in my quest to solve the world’s problems. I can brew a potion for you, too, when being nice invariably makes you sick to your stomach." Harry’s tone was sharper than she meant it to be, and she didn’t blame Snape for his subtle grimace.

“How thoughtful,” Caelum said icily. “I’d have expected you to just ignore the issue completely.”

Snape coughed, disrupting the tension between them. “I do believe I am needed elsewhere. Potter, I will send an owl and arrange a lab at the Guild for next week.”

Harry gave her mentor a polite smile and thanked him. She couldn’t wait to talk to Snape about her experiments in a more comfortable setting. One where there wasn’t a disgruntled boy trying to get her attention at every turn.

Caelum watched Snape retreat, then turned back to Harry. “We need to talk.”

“We have been talking,” Harry said blithely. “About potions. Isn’t it exciting? So much potential for the field.”

“Talk in private, I mean." He didn't look amused by her prevarication.

It wouldn’t kill her to talk to him for a few minutes, she reasoned. They'd clear the air so they could focus on their work. Better than Caelum making a scene here where everyone could see them. _Maybe he wants to apologize. Ha._

“Fine,” she relented. "I'll meet you in the northwest corner of the maze in ten minutes. It looks less suspicious if we leave at separate times.”

Caelum rolled his eyes. "If you don't show up, I am not above hunting you down."

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

-O-

[AbAbAbAbAbAb]

-O

It was Archie’s first time attending the Malfoys’ Summer Garden Party. And damn, he was glad Harry had shouldered this burden in previous years. He was bored out of his mind. It was even worse that the party was supposed to be for him — everyone wanted to talk to him, but no one had anything interesting to say. He missed Hermione.

After Millicent Bulstrode left to find some more of their friends, Archie was the only one in the gazebo. Normally, Archie wasn’t a fan of solitude, but he’d rather be alone than talk to one more person who saw him as the Pureblood Champion. Unfortunately, his solitude lasted only a moment.

"Happy birthday, Nephew," said Regulus Black.

"Thank you, uncle," Archie acknowledged politely. "I trust this afternoon finds you well?"

"Well enough. May we speak?"

Archie looked around in vain for Harry. Sirius was off getting refreshments, and Uncle James and Aunt Lily were nowhere in sight. Archie had to handle Regulus, his uncle who he’d seen only once since his mother’s funeral, alone. "Of course, uncle."

Regulus stepped into the shade of the gazebo, his face set in a pleasant expression. From afar, he might have looked like a doting uncle giving his nephew friendly advice. 

"Do you realize how many people have interrogated me about your interview?" Regulus hissed. The difference between his expression and tone was jarring. "What were you thinking, boy?"

“I was taking necessary steps to further my eventual goals.” Archie did his best to mimic Harry’s level, proper way of speaking when she was playing Rigel.

If Regulus had been a different man, he might have face-palmed. As it was, his expression just became more pinched. “And what goals are those? Even your father has declared the House of Black to be Neutral. You were the pureblood champion of an international tournament _._ We are currently at a party thrown in your honor by the _Malfoys,_ whose heir is your best friend. So I’ll inquire again. What were you thinking?”

Archie couldn’t hold back a slight frown. “ _Harry_ is my best friend. And I do believe my goals were quite clear if you read the interview." He spotted Blaise Zabini, one of Rigel's friends, in the crowd. "If you'll excuse me, Uncle, I think one of my friends is calling me over." 

Archie shamelessly fled over to Zabini. Whether that was 'out of the frying pan and into the fire,' as his favorite Muggle author would say, remained to be seen.

Zabini greeted him with quirked lips. "Happy birthday, Rigel. You seem unusually glad to see me."

“Aren’t I always?” 

Of all Rigel’s friends at Hogwarts, Archie thought he might know the least about Zabini. Harry had told him Zabini was a shifter with an Abbott mate and a good grasp of Ancient Runes. Why Harry was friends with him, though, was unclear. 

"If you say so. Did your uncle wish to speak about your Prophet interview?"

"However did you guess?" Archie said, as dryly as Harry would.

"It's only the topic on everyone's lips,” Zabini said neutrally.

"Oh? No one else has asked me about it yet." Archie wasn't surprised people were talking about the interview, but they weren't taking advantage of having the interviewee here to answer their questions! That was good for him and Harry on a personal level, since she knew more about the topic, but didn’t give him much hope for their political efforts.

"It's your birthday. No one wants to make a scene.”

Archie nodded and quickly changed the subject. "What have you been up to this summer?"

"Oh, this and that," Zabini said airily. "Nothing so exciting as your own doings, I'm sure. How is your cousin Harriet?”

Archie blinked in surprise. “She’s well. She came with me to the party. I’m sure you two will run into each other at some point.”

“Hmm,” was all Zabini said. Archie wished he knew enough about the other boy to decipher his enigmatic expressions.

They talked stiltedly about next year’s classes. Archie didn’t feel confident talking to Zabini about Hogwarts, but he felt even less confident about alternate subjects — politics, Rigel’s friends, the tournament. 

Archie spotted a platinum blond head in the crowd. It was the youngest Malfoy, walking toward Archie with purpose. He was being followed by the enigmatic Aldon Rosier.

“Rigel, there you are.” Malfoy cut off Zabini’s explanation of his Ancient Runes project. 

Archie wasn’t sure whether to be relieved at the interruption or concerned at Malfoy’s disregard of etiquette. Malfoy’s mouth was drawn in a tight line, and he glared at Zabini with more enmity than Archie had expected. Weren’t they all friends? Rosier didn’t look angry, just faintly amused.

“Until later, then,” Zabini said, and gave a parting bow before disappearing into the crush.

Malfoy frowned at Rosier. “Feel free to make your exit too.”

Rosier only smiled as if to say: _That’s cute._

“Was there something you needed, Draco?” Archie asked, trying to sound light and friendly. He didn’t really understand Harry’s friendship with the Malfoy scion, but he did know Malfoy and Parkinson were as important to her as Hermione was to him. At the beginning of the party, Malfoy had whispered that they would talk later. Later had, it seemed, arrived.

“Yes, Draco, did you need Rigel for something?” Rosier said, still smiling. The glint of mischief in his eyes was all too similar to the one Archie’s dad got before a prank went off. 

Malfoy glared at Rosier, which only made the older boy look merrier.

“Come on, Rigel,” Malfoy said, gesturing toward the hedge maze. “Pansy’s distracting your father. We need to speak in private. You might as well follow, _Aldon_ , since I know you’ll insist on staying where you’re not wanted.”

Archie glanced around for Harry, or even James and Lily, but there was no rescue in sight. He let Malfoy drag him into the hedge maze alongside Rosier. He fervently hoped that Rosier wasn’t the person Harry had slept with, because he was _not_ ready for that conversation. Politics, he could bluff his way through, at least with the younger set. His cousin/fake fiancee’s love life? Please no.

They’d walked deep into the maze, close to the edge of the gardens. Malfoy had just opened his mouth to speak when they heard a faint voice. 

"Did you want to talk or just stare at me?" 

“Is that Heiress Potter?” Malfoy asked quietly. His frown gave him an unflattering line between his eyebrows. 

It did sound like Harry. Malfoy and Rosier walked closer, and Archie had no choice but to follow. He considered casting muffling spells on their feet, but he didn’t want the other purebloods to see the wand he was using.

Who was Harry talking to? Was it the mysterious suitor? Was it any of his business?

"Obviously I want to talk. I sent you two — _two_ — letters. I have never, in my life, sent a double owl. And I still had to come find you in person!"

The second voice sounded like Caelum Lestrange, maybe? But Archie had only heard Lestrange’s voice once, so he wasn’t confident. He hadn’t expected to see the older boy here. Harry would have said something if he were a regular attendee at the Malfoys’ summer soiree. Besides, Lestrange hated Rigel Black, and this party was ostensibly for him. It was probably someone else.

Archie lost some of the conversation, as Malfoy led them through twists and turns of the maze. Then the air shifted back.

“Why haven't you come to the garden party before?" Harry said, a little accusingly.

Archie awarded a mental point in favor of his Lestrange hypothesis.

“Why do you think?” said the second person. Two points, for the rudeness.

"Aren’t you Draco’s first cousin?" Harry said. Archie’s count was up to three points. It had to be Lestrange.

“Since when are you on first name terms with the Malfoy heir?”

“Since he became my cousin’s best friend.”

“Your _fiance’s_ best friend, you mean,” Lestrange corrected. 

Lestrange did hate Rigel Black, sure, but the situation didn't call for the sheer amount of venom in Lestrange's tone. And why weren’t they talking about Potions? That was all Harry and Lestrange talked about during their meetings — she had told him so. Archie traded a confused stare with Malfoy, who was rubbing his temples. 

“Did you come here to insult Archie or talk to me? Because I have places to be."

“What places? Standing by Black’s side while everyone fawns over him?”

“Yes, precisely."

"How can you let that idiot overshadow you? Why are you even marrying him? You don’t love him.” Lestrange’s voice was rising in volume.

“Why would you think that?"

Malfoy glanced sideways at Archie, who wasn’t sure how to interpret his expression. Maybe Harry would have known. The boys stopped walking by mutual, silent agreement. Archie pressed against the hedges. They were too thick to see anything, but it sounded like Harry and Lestrange were just on the other side, hidden in the outside edge of the maze. Archie wondered if he should intervene.

“Don’t play the idiot. It doesn’t suit you.” Lestrange was the only person Archie knew whose sneer could permeate his entire voice.

“I'll quit playing the idiot when you stop being a jerk. Just say what you mean." 

“Fine,” Lestrange said hotly. “Your engagement is absurd. It’s _obvious_ to anyone with a functioning brain. Which excludes most of the company you keep, I suppose _._ ”

"You don’t know what you’re talking about. I could love Archie. Romantically. He’s well fit." 

Harry had never sounded less convincing. Archie internally rolled his eyes. Couldn’t she at least pretend, for the sake of their fake engagement, to be into him? Even though the actual thought of romance with Harry was… blech.

Lestrange scoffed loudly. “Come off it. You practically live together, and you haven’t even fucked him — or have you?"

Luckily, Harry’s response of “Shh!" covered up the sound of Malfoy’s choking. On the other side, Rosier's golden eyes were twinkling in amusement. Archie suddenly wished he were far away. He tried to indicate, with sweeping gestures and a few steps back the way they'd come, that he wanted to leave. Malfoy and Rosier looked at him like _he_ was mad. They didn’t budge. 

More quietly, Harry said, “Keep your voice down. Are you _trying_ to ruin my reputation?”

“I said you hadn’t fucked him. If anything, that would help your reputation. Don't you know what they're saying about you?”

Archie winced on Harry’s behalf. Even though she’d eventually acquiesced to Riddle’s demand that Rigel compete in the tournament, there had still been some nasty rumors going around about Harriet Potter. No concrete accusations, but enough to make the society dowagers give Harry serious side-eye. 

“And _you_ know those rumors are untrue,” Harry said. 

Why did she sound so pointed? No. Absolutely not. Archie refused to consider the idea. Caelum Lestrange was a bigot and an asshole.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don't,” Lestrange said, his voice dark. “You're a liar — you've said as much before. So? What's the truth?”

“If I’m such a liar, why bother asking me anything?” Harry snapped.

Beside Archie, Rosier flinched. _What?_ Archie mouthed. Rosier shook his head and stared into the hedge. Malfoy was frowning again.

Lestrange huffed. “You never make any fucking sense. You didn't bleed at all. And, more pertinently, why would you—” 

“Shh!” Harry said again. She was right to be paranoid.

Lestrange did lower his voice, but not enough. “Why would you have sex with me if you’d never done it before? What could have possessed you to let me take your virtue?”

" _Let you take_? I was an active participant, thanks. And not everyone bleeds the first time. You would know that if you studied Healing instead of patriarchal pureblood nonsense."

No matter how Archie turned over the words in his head, they sounded wrong. He must have been mistaken in the first place. Harry had to be talking to someone other than Lestrange; there was no one less likely to be the mysterious suitor. Except maybe Riddle himself. 

“Don't dodge the question,” said the boy on the other side of the hedge.

There was a long silence. Archie wished, fervently, to be anywhere else. But he wasn’t strong enough to drag Malfoy and Rosier away, and he couldn’t leave them to eavesdrop without him. He needed to know what they knew.

Harry’s tone was too flippant, too fragile. "You’re a good-looking bloke. Maybe I thought I could get my virginity out of the way with someone attractive who wouldn’t make it a big deal.” 

“That’s the absolute worst reason to have sex with someone I’ve ever heard.” 

When Harry responded, it was like a Muggle lightswitch had flipped. Archie had never heard his controlled and cautious cousin sound like this — like she wanted to tear someone apart. Maybe herself. 

“Who are you to judge me and my reasons? You kissed me first. You started the whole thing. What was _your_ reason? You’re disgusted by half-bloods, you think I'm bratty and annoying, you can barely admit you’re attracted to me, you're ashamed to be seen with me in public. What was in it for you?"

A silent moment. Harry went on.

"Was it some twisted way of thanking me for saving your life? Did you feel sorry for me? Or, no, you wanted to see for yourself what all the rumors were about. Congratulations, now you have your own story to share about Harriet Potter, the no-talent slut! Well, Caelum? Do tell. Did my half-blood _cunt_ live up to the gossip?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Archie saw Rosier wince. Malfoy looked like he might be sick.

"Nothing to say now?" Harry laughed bitterly. "Guess the joke's on me, after all. It always was."

Caelum Lestrange's voice was quiet when he finally spoke. He didn't sound angry anymore — he sounded gutted. "It wasn't like that."

"Wasn't it?"

" _No,_ you’re wrong," Lestrange said, still sounding like he'd swallowed a knife blade-first. "You don't understand."

"I understand perfectly. I remember everything you said to me. Every single word."

"Will you listen? I was hurt. I felt like you were abandoning me to go to Black, like everything that happened between us meant nothing to you. And I didn’t realize you would take it so personally. Regardless, I should never have said what I said, no matter the circumstances. It was… wrong," Lestrange ground out.

Archie shook his head in disbelief. 

"How long did you rehearse that little speech?" Harry's voice was flat now.

"A long time, is that what you want to know? Would you like me to make a _complete_ and utter fool of myself for you?"

“I really wo—" Harry broke off mid-word as a louder voice echoed through the maze.

"Archie?" 

The three young men behind the hedge stared at each other. Archie didn't want Sirius to hear this conversation, and neither did he want Lestrange (or Harry, for that matter) to find him eavesdropping. He gestured frantically for them to accompany him back out of the maze. 

Rosier rolled his eyes, and Malfoy looked overwhelmed, but they came with him. As they crept quickly away, there was silence on the other side of the hedge. Archie hoped that Harry had cast a Silencio on Lestrange, rather than any less … tasteful … reasons for the abrupt end to the conversation _._ Ew, he didn’t need that mental image.

Out in the open, by the entrance to the maze, Archie could see his dad pacing around. Archie waved to get his dad’s attention. Before Sirius could get closer, Archie turned to Malfoy and Rosier.

“Please, friends,” Archie said, his voice polite but steely, “can I be assured of your discretion in this matter?” 

Rosier blinked his strange golden eyes. “I will keep any... insights ... to myself.”

If that wasn’t suspicious, Archie didn’t know what was. But he quickly looked to Malfoy for a response. 

The Malfoy scion nodded, still looking overwhelmed. “Of course, Rigel,” he said.

Malfoy and Rosier excused themselves just before Sirius joined them. His dad was grinning, but his too-firm pat to Archie’s back revealed the nerves running under the surface.

“I was wondering where you’d gotten to,” Sirius said. “I don’t like the way Riddle’s been looking at you. Nice job avoiding him so far.”

Archie faked a laugh. “Thanks, Dad. Avoiding Riddle is my specialty. When are we opening presents?”

Sirius’s laugh sounded more sincere. “I think Cissy was waiting for you, can’t imagine why. Have you seen Harry?”

“I think she’s in the loo,” Archie lied. “She hates watching people open her presents anyway, so we can start without her.”

Luckily, this was a known trait of Harry’s, which made her absence unremarkable to the family. If Narcissa Malfoy had a problem with it, she kept it to herself. Many of the attendees gathered to watch Archie open presents, putting on a show of polite interest while sipping their drinks. 

Archie tried to forget about the conversation he’d heard in the hedges, while also keeping his natural exuberance over presents to a subdued Rigel Black level. Far too many of the pile of gifts were potions-related, but he and Harry could do a division later. He feigned curiosity about a book on high-level healing, signed with Harry’s name. Before the party, he’d opened her real present: a small vial filled with sparkling gold liquid, labeled as _Felix Felicis_ in Harry’s careful handwriting. _Just in case._

Lord Riddle kept his distance from the present-opening spectacle. But every time Archie glanced toward that direction of the crowd, Riddle looked back.

-O-

[HpHpHpHpHpHp]

-O

After Sirius’s voice echoed around them, Harry fell silent. Her uncle sounded far enough away that he shouldn’t have heard her whispered conversation. After a moment, she decided to flare her magical awareness to be sure, not caring if it irritated Caelum. She felt no one in the immediate vicinity. The hedges dampened noise enough that she could hear only a faint rumbling from the party, aside from Sirius's Outdoor Voice.

Still, it was a necessary reminder that she was in public, in the worst possible place to be talking so personally with Caelum Lestrange.

They stood without speaking for a few minutes. Harry had to resist rubbing her forehead like Draco often did. She had a sharp headache. Maybe Dom wasn’t pleased with the situation? She'd had to remember to keep her magic under control in the face of her fury. Rigel's magic was too well-known now for her to make any errors when she was being Harry.

After she’d slept with Caelum, she’d gone through her week as normally and numbly as she could. She’d been ignoring the problem, expecting it to go away and get better on its own. It was her issues with her magic all over again — she’d repressed her feelings, shut them away, ignored both the emotions and the person responsible. Like if she pretended hard enough, there wouldn’t be any consequences.

And then, speaking with him without Snape as a buffer, she’d started burning with an anger she rarely let herself feel. She’d wanted her words to rip the smirk right off his beautiful face. She’d wanted to leave marks on him like he’d left a mark on her. 

But the anger had drained away when he’d said that awful apology. It had been obviously rehearsed, like he’d practiced it for hours in front of a mirror. The anger left aching hurt in its wake, which settled as heavy in her stomach as misbrewed Pepper-Up.

Caelum took a step toward her. She crossed her arms and stared up at him.

“Harriet, listen,” he whispered roughly. The crack in his voice took her back to that night in her apartment. “I fucked this up. Let me start over. I—” 

“I don’t want to hear it. Write me if you have questions about Shaped Imbuing. I’d be happy to collaborate by owl.” She took a step towards the gap in the hedge, which happened to bring her closer to Caelum. 

He didn’t move. “Don't just leave again.”

“Watch me.” 

He reached out to cup her face. “Wait. _Please_.” The last word broke off in his mouth like a curse.

Harry stood there, still as a potion under stasis. She thought about shaking off his touch and storming off to find Archie. She could have pushed him back six feet in a second, just as she had the first time they met. But she didn't.

Caelum bent his head to hers, fingers curling around her jawline, lips a breath away from hers. 

There was an instant — a millisecond really — when Harry imagined what could come next. She could kiss Caelum, melt into his arms. She could even tug off their delicate robes and have him right there in the Malfoy gardens, if she wanted to be daring. She imagined the feel of skin against prickly grass and hot earth, the thrust of him inside her, the unbearable intimacy of letting her walls down again.

Harry pulled back.

She looked up at Caelum, into the biting blueness of his eyes. Harry couldn't be sure what she saw in his face — sincerity, lust, maybe even remorse. She’d never been the best at reading the emotions of other people. She had always been better at hiding herself away.

"Do you think kissing is like Obliviation?" Harry whispered. "You think you could just kiss me, how romantic, and make me forget what you said? Do you think me a fool?” 

“No. I think myself the fool.” He dropped his hands.

“I don’t understand what you want. Why did you try so hard to talk to me? Why can’t you just leave it alone and walk away?”

“It’s impossible to walk away from you. Don’t you know that?” Caelum ran a hand through his hair. The gesture made his resemblance to Archie suddenly disarming.

"Caelum…" she trailed off.

"Don’t marry Black," he said abruptly.

"Why shouldn’t I?" Harry put her hands on her hips. They were still standing too close together.

"You just shouldn’t."

" _Why?_ " she snapped. "Are you planning to marry me yourself?" Without the marriage law forcing her hand, Harry had no intention of marrying anyone. She asked the mocking question anyway.

Caelum scoffed, sharp and disdainful. "Like my mother would allow me to marry a half-blood. She’d kill me first."

"What if I were secretly a pureblood?" 

"We’re not playing that game again." 

"If I were?" She raised an eyebrow, as her heart beat loudly in her ears. "You’d want to marry me then?"

The challenge in her voice pushed Caelum over the edge. He lost his temper, but not the way she'd expected. 

"Maybe I would!" he whispered harshly. "Don’t you get it, you brat? You think there’s a million girls out there like you?"

"What?”

Caelum’s frustrated hand gestures were more dramatic than Dom directing his underwater orchestra. “What do you want to hear me say? Yes, you saved my life. But it’s not about gratitude — I told you, you’re not tricking another thanks out of me — it’s about how you care. You care about _me_ , not the Lestrange money or connections or power in the Party. Even though all I ever do is hurt you, usually on purpose, you still care! You see everything, you see the part of me that’s dark and mean and nasty. And you keep being my fucking _friend_ anyway. How can any of those pureblood princesses live up to that?” 

Harry had anticipated disgust and anger. She hadn’t bargained on this.

He groaned. “Fuck, Harriet, you’ve ruined everything. Now how am I supposed to go on those awful courtship dinners, with simpering girls who couldn’t brew a Sweat Inducer if their lives depended on it?”

“That’s unfair. There are plenty of smart girls out there,” Harry said weakly.

“Not like you, you stupid genius.” Caelum put on a high-pitched, sing-songy voice. “I’m Harriet Potter, I accidentally made a whole new method of brewing, using wandless magic and Occlumency I happened to pick up along the way, don’t mind me revolutionizing your career field! Sure, I’d be happy to teach you instead of making a million galleons off this shit no one else can do!"

“I don’t sound like that,” she muttered.

“And that’s just not enough for you, is it? You have to be kind to everyone, even people who don’t deserve it. It’s unnatural — who bothers being both a genius _and_ pointlessly nice?"

“You forgot sexy.” Harry quipped.

Caelum’s gaze wandered down her body for a moment, then back up. He met her eyes again and turned an adorable red. “That's not something I could forget, even if you weren’t standing in front of me. I have an excellent memory,” he said.

“Are you really bragging right now?” 

“No, I’m just saying—”

“What is the point of this conversation?” she said, exasperated. “Where are you going with this?”

“I don’t know! You brought up that stupid question. The answer’s yes, okay? Yes, I want you. Yes, if we were all living in this crazy fucking fantasy world where you were a pureblood, I’d offer for your hand. Even though Black already has it.” 

Caelum’s face scrunched up as soon as the words passed his lips. He had the same expression as when he’d told her she was prettier each time he saw her — like his mouth had committed a great betrayal against his honor. But he’d said it.

Harry bit her lip, and confessed. “Caelum, the betrothal contact was just to protect me if the marriage law passed. I’m not really going to marry Archie. We’re going to dissolve it as soon as he turns seventeen.” 

“Because… because you don’t love him?” 

“No, I mean, yes, because I don’t love him romantically. But also because I’m not going to marry anyone,” she explained. “At least not for a long time. I don’t have the time or the energy to spare — look at what’s happened, look what a mess we've made of it already. I’m going to focus on my potions.”

“Why did you ask me that question, then? Is it your goal in life to humiliate me?” Caelum crossed his arms again, starting to close off.

Harry shook her head. “No, that’s not — I’m not getting married. But I might be open to being courted someday, I guess. If it didn't interfere with my dreams.” She remembered the wild fantasies that had shot through her head when she’d spoken to her mother. 

“Do you hear the words coming out of your mouth? You want me to court you? Make up your mind.” Caelum blew out an irritated breath.

"What I said about not having the time and energy is true," Harry said, trying to cobble together her reasoning. "I have other things I need to focus on for now.”

“And what about later? What about after your Mastery? Is that what you mean by ‘someday’?” 

“Yes," she said, then hesitated. "But even then… I’m not sure. Remember that night?”

“Obviously,” Caelum drawled.

“I didn't lie to you, when I told you… all those things. I have secrets. And I can’t ever fall in love with someone, if I’m always hiding part of myself.”

Despite all her fantasies about a partner in both potions and love, that was a fact she had to acknowledge. Rigel was a part of her and always would be. She couldn’t ever fall in love, while constantly deceiving the other person and pretending to be somebody she wasn’t. Even if she wanted to. Even if she felt like she might— 

Caelum snorted, interrupting her whirring thoughts. “Who said anything about falling in _love_?” 

Harry glared at him. “You asked me to marry you!” 

“It was a hypothetical situation, _not_ a proposal,” Caelum defended immediately.

“So not the point,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm not a pureblood, remember? I don't have to worry about marrying for a political alliance or carrying on my bloodline or whatever you all do. If I ever marry, I'll marry for love, not convenience."

“Tell me your secrets, then,” he demanded. “Stop hiding. Tell me why you have a secret apartment in the Lower Alleys, why my mother says you've never met but you talk like you have. Tell me where you learned to speak French!”

“I _can’t.”_ Harry’s nails dug small crescents into her palms as she shook her head again. 

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Even if I wanted to tell you my secrets, how could I trust you to keep them? How could I know you wouldn't spread them around just to hurt me? I trusted you before. You threw all that vulnerability back in my face the _very same day.”_

“Technically the next day," Caelum pointed out. "It was past midnight."

"Do you think that makes it better?” 

He flushed, looking down at the ground. “I guess not.”

The sun had dipped further west from where it had shone directly above them. She didn’t know how long they’d been talking — thirty minutes? An hour even? The party generally lasted several hours, and her family would hardly leave without her, but she worried her absence from the main party had been noticed. Hopefully Archie was covering for her.

Caelum was quiet again, still looking at the ground. It was hard for Harry to think when they were tossing out words at the speed of spells, when Caelum offered up verbal explosions with ideas like _it was wrong to say those things to you_ and _you’ve ruined me for other women_ and _I want you, I'd want to marry you (if you weren’t a half-blood, but you are)._

The truth was, part of Harry wanted him to know. She wanted Caelum to understand why her future in potions was her priority — understand what she’d given up, what she’d suffered, what she could and couldn’t risk. She wanted another moment like when he’d first kissed her: that heady rush as if he truly saw her as she was. As she could be. 

But a much larger part of her was unsure, and untrusting, and unnerved. _You’d be crazy to tell him anything,_ that side insisted, _It’s not safe. He’s a Lestrange. Could you ever really trust him? Could you ever really know him?_

At the same time, a conflicted longing: _But don't you want him? But think about it? But someday?_

“Look, Caelum,” Harry said. “My family will be missing me, and yours is probably wondering where you are too. We can finish this discussion another time.”

Caelum sighed deeply. “Will we, though? Or will you go straight back to avoiding me?” 

“I won’t,” she assured him. “I’m still thinking about… everything. About what I really want. But I’m not going to ignore it anymore. And we’re still friends, regardless.”

His shoulders relaxed. She hadn't even noticed how stiffly he'd been holding himself. "Still friends, huh?"

"At this point, you have to admit it.”

Caelum slowly grinned at her, like he had when she agreed to go home with him, the first time they'd brewed together. "You know I've never been much for friends before. So clarify for me, on the friendship front — can friends come over to each other’s apartments and shag each other senseless?”

Harry laughed despite herself. "Generally, no." 

"What about kissing?" he asked slyly. "Because, if you think about it, it doesn't make sense to consider what you want with only the vaguest, dimmest memory of what you're deciding about. That's not good experimental form."

She considered. Was his reasoning valid? Maybe. It would probably feel different, kissing Caelum now. It had only been a week, but the situation had changed. She could catalogue her emotions and reactions during the kiss to help make her eventual decision about what she wanted. Did he have an ulterior motive for his suggestion? Of course.

Would kissing him be a slippery slope? None slipperier. But, as Theo would say, that’s what made it fun. 

Harry drew in a slow breath. "Kissing isn’t a thing in most friendships, no. But I suppose we could make an exception this one time. For the sake of obtaining proper data.” 

"Nothing is sexier than quality research,” he said. “Let’s make this experiment count.”

This time, when Caelum reached for her, she leaned into him. His thumb brushed the edge of her tentative smile as she tilted her face up and closed her eyes. 

Their first kiss had been heated. This one was a wildfire. 

Caelum’s mouth tasted of the sweet wine he never actually drank. His fingers curled into her hair with just the right amount of force. His other hand rested hot and firm against the dip of her lower back. 

He had clearly paid attention to her sighs and shivers the last time they’d been together. Either that, or he was a Legilimens. How else could he know just how to make her legs tremble? How else could he make her so wet and wanton from a simple kiss?

 _Wow, this was not a good idea,_ Harry realized dizzily. Not because she didn’t like kissing him, but because she liked it far too much. From how hard Caelum felt, pressed tight against her body, it seemed he shared her opinion. She ached with the temptation to Apparate him to Dogwood Lane, where she could touch him as much as she wanted… Did she really _have_ to ponder their relationship first? 

Caelum’s lips slid down to her throat, teeth scraping the most sensitive spot on her neck, and Harry had to stifle a moan.

“Wait,” she said, trying to catch her breath.

Caelum raised his head. Uncertainty looked out of place on his elegant features. “You don’t like that?” 

“No, I do,” Harry admitted, “I really, really do. But I need to go. I have to find —” she stopped herself from saying _Archie —_ “my family.”

“Your family,” he echoed hollowly. “Right. I know.”

Harry reached out to touch his hand. “I’ll send you an owl, okay? Tonight. And if I forget, you know where I live.” She winked in an attempt to get him to smile.

Caelum did smile then, slow and small and heart-stoppingly beautiful. “I hope you’ll take this new data into consideration for the future.” 

She snorted. “I definitely will.”

Harry left first, so they wouldn’t emerge from the maze together (and also so he had some time to calm down, but she tactfully didn't mention it). When she glanced back over her shoulder, Caelum gave her a tiny, awkward wave. 

Harry couldn't blame the summer sun for the warmth that spread through her whole body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, I originally conceptualized this story as a two-shot: part 1 being "the apartment" and part 2 being "the garden party". Sections of this were written before I even finished part 1. You also almost got a Snape POV. But you'll just have to imagine his thoughts and opinions about what THAT whole deal was. 
> 
> I'm now anticipating 2 more parts for a total of 5, but don't quote me on it!


	4. self-efficacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for abuse returns in this chapter. Fade to black scene, but referenced throughout.

**PART 4: self-efficacy**

The morning after the Malfoys’ Garden Party, Caelum woke to the feeling of someone staring at him. He blearily opened his eyes. Bellatrix was standing at the foot of his bed, curly hair wild, casually leaning against his bedpost like this wasn’t the first time she’d entered his room in years. 

“Mother?” he said sleepily, raising his head from his silk pillow. 

“I met with Lord Riddle this morning.” Bellatrix bounced her wand in her palm. 

Caelum sat up, eyes following the movement of her wand. “Okay?”

“He asked me about you.” His mother’s face, often so easy to read as a sneer or twisted in fury, was eerily blank.

“About me?” 

“Lord Riddle asked me how long you’d been fucking the half-blood bitch,” Bellatrix said, very quietly. 

Caelum froze. “That’s absurd,” he said through numb lips. “We are just potions collaborators, I told you before when I went to Potter Place—”

“Your guilty conscience is showing,” his mother interrupted. “I never said it was Potter.”

“Mother, really, Lord Riddle must be mistaken—”

“Do not lie to me, _son,_ ” she hissed, raising her wand. 

Caelum stiffened. He prepared himself for a Cutting Curse, or a Knockback Jinx, perhaps a Slug-Vomiting Charm if Bellatrix was in the mood to humiliate.

“ _Crucio,”_ said his mother.

The world went white.

-O-

[HpHpHpHpHpHp]

-O-

The evening after the Malfoys’ Garden Party, Harry had sent Caelum an owl.

 _Caelum_ , she'd written — 

_Here is your owl, as I promised. Don’t let her have any bacon, she gets spoiled. I have not forgotten our discussion about experimental data, and I will be analyzing it in the days to come. I will let you know about any conclusions I come to._

_Yours,_

_H.P_

She’d allowed herself forty-five seconds to stare out the window, thinking about the way he'd kissed her, as the Potter owl flapped into the dusk. That was the limit.

The next day, she got back to her normal life. Harry arrived in the early morning at her apartment in the Alleys, ready to brew. She hadn’t been back to the apartment since that night and the fateful four a.m. departure. Harry set up her cauldron in the living room, before smelling the crusty week-old dishes scattered in front of the couch. Lovely. 

She scrubbed them vigorously in the kitchen sink. She also asked her magic to perform a bug-repelling charm on the floorboards for good measure. While she was at it, she cleaned up some dust and cast some scouring spells at the kitchen and bathroom. _Not that I’m planning on having guests again, but it can’t hurt,_ she mentally defended.

After a morning of working on her first aid kit, she headed to the Phoenix for lunch instead of rummaging through her cupboards. She hadn’t seen Leo in a while, since she’d been sending in her orders to Krait by owl for the past week.

The Phoenix was relatively busy. Solom greeted her with a smile and a jerk of the head towards where Leo sat, looking despondent. She ordered a glass of milk and a sandwich, then crossed the room to slide into a seat across from the Rogue.

Leo perked up at her arrival. “Harry! What a surprise.”

She grinned fondly at him. “I hope I’m not interrupting your scheduled brooding.”

“No, that’s on Tuesdays,” he said, grinning back.

Solom came by with her order, which elicited a sigh from Leo. 

“One of these days we’ll have you drinking ale like a real man,” he lamented.

She snorted. “And my bones will crumble to dust from lack of calcium, and who will you duel with then?”

Leo laughed. “Speaking of, Harry. I haven’t seen you in the Alleys this past week. I’ve had to duel Marek, and he always takes it too seriously.”

“Oh, I’ve been working on a few projects at home and just sent in Krait’s orders by owl,” Harry explained.

“Working at home, she says. Like you avoiding me has nothing to do with what I did to Lestrange?”

Her head shot up. “What?”

Leo raised his eyebrows, looking intrigued. “Interesting. I expected he’d go whining to you right away.”

“Start over, Leo,” she said, crossing her arms. “What did you do to him? How do you even know each other?” She remembered Caelum mentioning Leo in his litany of complaints while lying sick on her couch, but she’d never followed up on the topic. She was regretting that now.

“I know him through the Potions Guild. And there was no permanent bodily harm.”

Harry stared at him.

Leo raised his hands. “All right, I punched him. Only once! And he was fine, I sent him straight to my ma to get healed up after.”

She scoffed in disbelief. “You sent him to a Healer — and he went?”

“Of course he went. He wouldn’t want that perfect nose to heal crooked,” Leo said glibly.

“You broke his _nose?”_ She lowered her voice when several Phoenix customers glanced over. “Why, Leo? I know he can be a jerk, but was that necessary?”

“If you know he’s a jerk, then why would you —” He cut himself off. “Never mind. It’s your business.”

Harry had an awful suspicion. “Did you and Caelum have an argument before this punching occurred?” 

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Leo hedged. “I just stopped him to have a friendly chat. Outside your apartment. Good call, by the way. Wouldn’t want him to sully your perfectly nice bed at home—”

“Leo!” she cried, mortified.

“Harry,” he mimicked, then shook his head apologetically. “I didn’t bring it up to tease you, lass, just to say I’m sorry I interfered. I was worried about you. Still am. Your little lord seems to be incapable of reassuring anyone."

“People say the same about me.” She met Leo’s eyes again despite the heat in her face. “I’m fine. I promise. You don’t need to worry.”

“See, Harry, this is exactly why people say that about you,” Leo said, exasperated. “Whenever you tell me ‘you don’t need to worry,’ it makes me even more worried than I already was.”

He had a point. Usually her assurances had something to do with the ruse, when there really was a reason to be concerned. "This time I mean it?" she tried. 

Leo leaned back in his chair. “If you’re sure, Harry, then I’ll drop the subject. But I haven’t forgotten your promise. I’m here when you get in over your head. Are you looking forward to returning to AIM in a few weeks?”

Harry was wholeheartedly grateful for the change of subject. She should've expected that Leo knew she’d taken Caelum to her apartment; his eyes and ears in the Alleys would have reported her dragging a stumbling young man to Dogwood Lane. She hadn't known that he and Caelum had gotten into a fight.

And Leo still hadn’t told her why.

Harry knew, of course, that Leo had romantic feelings for her. She also knew that she couldn’t reciprocate them the way he wanted her to. She cared deeply for Leo, as one of her closest friends, as her dueling mentor. But they had an easy, comfortable companionship — there was no anticipation in the pit of her stomach, no burning spark. And he didn’t share her passion for potions.

It would have been simpler if she wanted Leo. With Caelum, there were so many obstacles: their fraught history, their families, their social statuses and the politics of it all. But Harry had never been one to choose the easy path. 

Leo kept his word and didn't bring her love life up again. He promised to teach her a new duelling technique the next time they saw each other. After she ate, Harry said good-bye to Leo and blew a mocking kiss to Rispah when she winked from across the room.

Harry navigated the Alleys with ease as she walked back to her apartment, thinking about what signifying ingredient would work best in the base for the Shaped Imbued version of the Pacemaker Charm. She could always write to Professor Snape and ask for his opinion, but it was more satisfying when she figured out the right possibilities herself. Harry also needed to gather her prototypes for whenever she met Professor Snape at the Guild, hopefully in the next week or so.

Usually, there was no one standing outside on Dogwood Lane, unless Mrs. Whitlock was on her way to pick up groceries from the market. But today, there was a figure in black robes loitering outside her building, facing the opposite direction. She narrowed her eyes.

The figure turned as she neared. She recognized that beautifully angled face, that ruffled dark hair.

She blinked in surprise. “Caelum?” 

“Hello, Harriet,” he said, one corner of his mouth quirking into a tiny smile.

She took a few steps closer. He looked exhausted; she’d never seen him with dark circles before.

“I know I said you knew where I lived, but I meant Potter Place,” Harry said. “And I really didn’t expect to see you so soon. I did send an owl last night.”

“I must have missed it. But I’m actually here to ask you about a potion."

"How'd you know I'd be here?" Harry asked.

"I didn't."

She gestured for him to follow her up the stairs while she unlocked her door. “You thought you’d wait around in case I happened to show up?” That was a desperate move, especially when Caelum didn’t have access to the same mini-spy network that Leo did. Why hadn’t he just sent an owl?

“I wasn’t waiting around, I was simply admiring the architecture,” Caelum sniffed.

Harry snorted. She’d given worse excuses, surely, but none she could think of at the moment. “Sure you were.” She ushered him into the apartment.

He pulled a bouquet, of all things, out of his shoulder bag. "Here, put these in a vase." He shoved them into her hands.

“Did you come here to bring me _flowers?_ " Harry laughed incredulously. 

His face turned red all the way to the tips of his ears. "Of course not. I passed a scruffy street urchin and bought these in exchange for directions to your apartment.”

“You’ve been here before.” She wondered if he’d felt sorry for the kid and wanted to toss a few Knuts their way. Had it been Margo?

“Not from Knockturn,” he muttered.

“These aren’t very useful in potions,” she said, as she examined the flowers. The small bouquet consisted of two slender stalks of purple hyacinths, two jonquils, and an orange rose. They looked very peculiar together. If Potions didn’t work out, Caelum wouldn't have a career in flower arranging to fall back on.

“That’s why I said to put them in a vase, you plebeian,” Caelum retorted. 

She didn’t want to admit that she didn’t own one. Instead, she asked her magic to transfigure a paper sack from the counter into an elegant glass vase. She filled it with water from the sink and plonked the incongruous flowers inside.

“You just did that Transfiguration wandlessly,” Caelum commented, still standing by the kitchen door. “And silently.”

“Hmm, did I?” Harry smiled at him, setting the vase on her counter. “What potion did you want to ask about? Is it Shaped Imbued?”

He shook his head. "Do you have any Sullivan’s Soothing Solution?"

Harry frowned. She brewed the nerve relaxer and painkiller on a semi-regular basis for Krait, but she’d already sent in her latest batch the week before. "Nothing on hand. I'm sure the apothecary has some. Why?"

Caelum leaned against her doorway in a way that was too affectedly casual. “It’s for a friend. I tried the apothecary, but I didn’t have enough gold. On me,” he added hastily.

She remembered that his parents were stingy about paying for his potions _indulgence._ The ‘friend’ story was doubtful; he’d practically admitted to her in the past that she was his only friend. Did he want the potion for Hestin, his house elf? Or… She frowned in suspicion. Was his hand trembling around the doorframe? 

“Tell me you haven’t come to me instead of a Healer _again,_ ” she said.

“You’re a Healer,” he said, sounding surly.

“Not licensed.” Harry sighed. “If you’re sick, I can take you to the clinic.” She kindly didn’t mention that she knew he’d already gone to the clinic to get his nose healed. If he didn’t want to tell her about his altercation with Leo, she wouldn’t bring it up.

“I’m _not_ sick.”

She ran her eyes over his frame consideringly. Sullivan’s Soothing Solution was used for a variety of treatments, including chronic pain and disorders that affected the nerves. But despite his excuse, he hadn’t come to her as a Healer. He’d come to her as a friend. Besides, Caelum wasn’t far from his Potions Mastery exam. If he said he needed this potion in particular, she believed him.

“I’ll be right back, then,” she said. “I’ll pop over to the apothecary. Unless you want me to brew it myself?”

“As long as you vouch for the quality from whatever run-down shop you patronize,” Caelum said.

She resisted the urge to shoot him a disrespectful hand gesture on her way out the door. Harry walked briskly to the Serpent's Storeroom to get a few bottles of Sullivan’s Soothing Solution that she’d brewed a few weeks ago. Krait raised an eyebrow at her, but didn’t ask her any questions about her purchasing her own potions.

When she returned to the apartment, Caelum was sitting on the couch in the living room. He had propped his elbows on his knees and was smothering his face in his hands. She experienced a dizzying moment of deja vu — thank Merlin he was coherent this time.

"I got the potion," she said. "I'll warn you, though, it's supposed to taste horrific."

"Would it kill them to flavor a Healing potion like fine whiskey for once?" he complained. "Can you bring it here?" 

Evidently, he was abandoning the 'it's for a friend' excuse. 

"I'll keep your flavor requests in mind for my next invention.” She knelt in front of the couch, offering him the vial. 

Caelum tossed back the dose like a shot of alcohol. "Thanks," he mumbled, making a face at the aftertaste. 

Harry reached out and squeezed his hand. Instead of pulling away, he squeezed back. It was a mark of the seriousness of the occasion that she didn't tease him about finally giving her a third thank you. 

After a minute, he smirked down at her. "Comfortable down there, are you? That's good to know."

She blushed and dropped his hand, jumping up from where she had been kneeling between his legs. "Is sex all you ever think about?"

"I think about potions, too," he drawled.

She stepped back, painfully aware of the heat in her face. For all the new experiences she'd shared with Caelum the last time they'd been in her apartment, _that_ was something she hadn't tried. She'd considered it, the second go-round, but it had felt more daunting. She'd been nervous to mess anything up. That whole night had been volatile, an experiment that could blow up in her face at any moment. And then it had.

None of that was pertinent now, she reminded her wandering thoughts. He was using innuendo to deflect her attention from the real issue.

"You must be feeling better,” she said dryly. “Does this mean you’re ready to discuss why you came to me instead of brewing the potion yourself in your very well-stocked lab?”

He flicked his eyes to hers and away again. “Maybe I wanted to see you,” he said unconvincingly. 

“That’s cute, but you saw me yesterday.” Harry pursed her lips. “And I’m worried if you’d rather tell me that than whatever the real reason is.”

Caelum stood up and started pacing around the small living room. “Is this an interrogation?”

“No, just concern from a friend. You don’t _have_ to talk about it. I’m here if you want to.”

Harry pulled out a dense book on mind magic from her bag to peruse while he brooded. Whatever was on his mind, she didn’t want to pressure him into telling her. But Harry knew the weight of secrets. She knew the weight of silence.

After she’d made her way through most of the first chapter, Caelum broke. 

“My mother knows,” he said, voice hollow.

Harry put the book down.

“She woke me up this morning and—” He bit off whatever he was about to say, and took a harsh breath. “Lord Riddle asked her about you and me. And of course I tried to tell her it was a ridiculous rumor, but she wasn’t having it. I guess _Lord Riddle’s_ word is worth ever so much more than her only son’s.”

“What did she say then?” 

“Not much. She only needed one word to get her point across.” He closed his eyes.

Harry looked at him steadily. There was a pause, and he opened his eyes again.

“That’s what the potion was for, okay, Harry?” he spat. “My own mother cast _Crucio_ on me, and I didn’t even fight back, you don't need to tell me I’m useless and weak—”

“You are _not weak,”_ Harry said. She crossed the room to him, reaching her hand out to touch his shoulder.

Then Caelum was sinking to the floor. She followed. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing shakily, his arms wrapping tight around her waist. 

They sat like that for a long time. 

“There’s another thing,” he whispered into her shoulder eventually.

“Mmm?” 

“My mother killed Popsy. Our elf, who practically raised me, who died a few years ago,” Caelum elaborated. “I always suspected, but she admitted it after… after. She did it because I relied on him too much. He died because of me.”

Harry’s hand went still against Caelum’s back. She could not say _I’m sorry for your loss_ again. She didn’t know if it would help or hurt Caelum if she gave voice to the fury that thrummed through her. Bellatrix Lestrange had so much to answer for. 

“It wasn’t because of you,” she told him, as soothingly as she could. “It is _not_ your fault.”

Caelum raised his head. His eyes were dry. “Don’t lie to make me feel better, Harriet. I don’t want that.”

She rubbed a slow circle into his back. “There are plenty of things you’ve done that you’re at fault for,” she said honestly. “But you can’t blame yourself for what our mother did to your elf. Or for what she’s done to you.”

“She’s — she’s my mother,” Caelum said haltingly. “So…”

He didn’t seem to know how to finish his sentence. Neither did Harry. She could have helped with a stroke, a cerebral aneurysm, or encephalitis; she didn’t know how to Heal this sort of mental wound. Archie was planning to take an elective in talk therapy in the upcoming year, but the Muggleborn-originated practice hadn’t made its way to Wizarding Britain. She hoped it would soon.

They sat for a while longer, until he gave a deep sigh and covered his face with his hand. “Well, now I’ve gotten the potion I came for and utterly humiliated myself in front of you. I have to go.”

“You can’t go back there,” Harry said resolutely.

“Where else?” He disentangled their limbs and stood up.

She stood too. “You’re of age. We can find you a place to live.”

“My apprenticeship stipend barely covers my ingredients. Even if I did want to leave my ancestral home, I don’t have the means, not without my father’s approval to access the Lestrange vaults.” The twist to his mouth said that wouldn’t be forthcoming.

Her first instinct was to offer her apartment. It was already paid for in advance, including utilities, and wasn’t far from the Guild. But there was one glaringly obvious problem: while that would work for now, she would be leaving for Hogwarts at the end of the month. Caelum would think she was at AIM, as she was supposed to be, but she’d be handing him concrete evidence that she didn’t reside in the Lower Alleys during the school year. It would defeat the entire purpose of the back-up plan. And she wasn’t ready to give that up.

“Could you get money from someone else?” she suggested. She might have had the funds, with the orders for Protection Potions from Burke, but she had no explanation for _why_ she had so much money that wasn’t tied up in the Potter vaults.

“Like who?” 

“Rabastan Lestrange? Your uncle?”

“Absolutely not,” Caelum said immediately. “He’d never agree to me leaving Dartmoor, and he’d talk shit about me to my parents for even asking.”

“My uncle Sirius is Lord Black,” she ventured. “He would be understanding, I think.”

“Out of the question,” he snapped, but then looked thoughtful. “I could ask my cousin Regulus. He has his own fortune, and he’s always been… supportive… of my potions endeavours.”

Harry raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t known Caelum was close to Regulus Black, but she supposed it made sense. Maybe sometime she could have Caelum ask Regulus to stop interfering in Rigel’s life, as a personal favor. “Great. Write a letter and I can send it with a family owl tonight.”

“I’m not sure —” He glanced away. “I’m not sure what she’ll do tonight. You should send it now.”

“You’ll stay here tonight,” she said firmly. “Stay until we get you your own place in a few days.”

“Stay with you?” he asked, an odd look on his face.

She had to shake her head. “No, I’ll be at Potter Place. But we can get some more food and toiletries and such for you so this place is more comfortable.” She knew that her apartment wasn’t as grand as he was used to. But it would be safe. No one would find him here, if they were even looking. 

“Okay,” Caelum said. He didn’t thank her, this time, but she didn’t need him to.

Harry took him with her to the market off Kyprioth Court. If he had any derogatory thoughts about the Lower Alleys, he kept them to himself for once. She bought basic groceries for the week, mostly simple foods since he wasn’t an experienced cook. Anyone could make toast or hard-boiled eggs. She picked up some fried vegetables from one of the street vendors for dinner.

Back at the apartment, Harry started unloading the groceries into the cupboard. 

“Do you need another dose of Sullivan’s?” she asked Caelum, who was just watching her.

“No.” He didn’t meet her eyes. 

“I’ll leave a few bottles in the cupboard with the orange juice,” she said nonchalantly. “I was planning to brew this afternoon. Do you want to collaborate?”

“Of course I do,” he said immediately.

He did the chopping and preparing of ingredients while she did the Shaped Imbuing for three batches of Protection Potions. She took the high road and didn’t address him as “assistant,” even though he was more of an assistant than a collaborator in this particular endeavour.

After they brewed for a few hours in quiet companionship, they ate the bubble and squeak she’d picked up as an early dinner. He looked more comfortable, cross-legged on her couch with a plate of food, than he had the last time they’d eaten a meal together. 

“Here, let me show you how to wash dishes, since you evidently need a lesson,” Harry joked.

He scoffed. “Are you a witch or not?”

“Use your wand, then, but use something. I don’t want to come home after a few days and find the place a disaster.”

Caelum made a face, and she could tell he was holding himself back from saying something like _this place isn’t a disaster already_? The show of restraint was impressive. He’d come a long way from the boy she’d first met.

After they ate, Caelum arranged himself in a position that reminded her of Archie: legs draped carelessly over the arm of the couch, lying with his head practically in her lap. She tried not to stare at him too obviously. _Will he be okay here by himself?_

Harry cast a _Tempus_ and frowned. It was already almost six. Dinner was at Remus’s that night, and she’d made no excuses. But she’d already eaten, and she missed dinner often enough when she got caught up in brewing, she reasoned. Her family never seemed to mind.

She really didn’t want to leave.

“It’s fine, Harriet,” Caelum said, as if he’d read her thoughts. “Go home to your family.” 

“No,” she said contrarily. 

“Just bring me a Prophet sometime this week so I can look at the rental listings.” He yawned, head dipping back against her thigh. 

She nodded agreement to his request, but she didn’t make a move to get up and go to the Floo. Tentatively, she ran a hand through his hair. She remembered that it had felt soothing when Aldon Rosier had done it for her. In a physical way, at least — the undercurrents and the ruse and Aldon’s mysterious motivations were what had made her nervous.

Caelum made a low, throaty sound. 

Harry chose to ignore her body’s inappropriate reaction to the noise. _Where is your sense of timing?_ she rebuked herself sharply. She ran her fingers through his hair again, gently rubbing his scalp.

Caelum sighed. “I changed my mind, don’t go home. Stay here forever. Screw potions, take up a permanent position as my masseuse.”

“I think Professor Snape might have some issues with that,” she said, amused. “And how would you pay me for this new occupation?”

“I’m sure I could find _some_ way to make it worth your while.” He lifted his chin to smirk at her upside down.

“Shh, I’m being soothing here,” Harry rebuked, biting her lip to hide her smile. 

“What happened to you being fun?” 

“Limited time offer. After five o’clock, you get boring, serious Harry only.” Her hand was still stroking his hair.

“Like you could be boring if you tried,” Caelum scoffed. 

That made her feel unexpectedly warm. “You’d be the first to think so,” she said, thinking of her dad. Even Pansy’s eyes tended to glaze over when she went off on a potions tangent.

Caelum closed his eyes and relaxed back into her touch. His breathing deepened, like he might fall asleep with his head in her lap. The warm feeling lingered. 

With her focus diverted to Caelum's pressing need for safety and a practical plan, she still hadn't had the chance to sort through her emotions or decide what she wanted long-term. At the moment, she thought, it was more important to be his friend. The rest could wait until they were both in a good place. If only the thudding of her heart and the ache between her thighs could get with the program...

Caelum fell asleep. Harry missed dinner.

-O-

[ClClClClClClClCl]

-O-

Caelum settled into a strange, liminal existence over the next few days. During the day, he Flooed to the Guild to meet Master Whitaker, who remained ignorant of the changes in Caelum’s life. In the evenings, Caelum read through old issues of Potions periodicals and managed to feed himself. Harriet’s apartment was a far cry from Dartmoor in every way. But it was peaceful. 

Early Friday morning, Harriet dropped by again to bring Regulus’ reply to his letter. Regulus wrote that he had some questions for Caelum, and requested that they meet for lunch at La Serene at noon.

On his lunch break, Caelum made his way from the Guild down to La Serene on the main street. When he arrived, the hostess showed him to a booth at the back of the restaurant. Regulus was already waiting.

“I received your owl,” Regulus said as a greeting. Well, _obviously_ , or he wouldn’t have been able to set up this meeting.

“You said you had some questions,” Caelum said guardedly. 

“Please, sit.”

Caelum slid into the booth across from Regulus. He didn’t bother to glance at the menu, since he knew what he liked (and didn’t speak French anyway). Regulus poured him a glass of the fairy wine from the bottle already in the center of the table.

“I would like to begin by letting you know I have no hesitations about putting aside an allowance for you each month,” Regulus told him. “There is more than sufficient gold to supplement your apprenticeship stipend so that you can find accommodations proper for someone of your standing.”

Caelum blinked. _That was easy._ “You have my gratitude, Cousin Regulus,” he said formally.

Regulus took a sip of wine, gray eyes still sharp. “It is no matter. Normally I would suggest you approach the Black Family Head with such requests, but…” 

They shared a look.

“Now, about the questions,” Regulus said.

Caelum tasted the wine from his own glass. It was a crisp white, with a tart finish. Regulus never bought less than the best. “What do you want to know?”

Regulus didn’t respond to him right away. The waiter came by to take their order, and Caelum ordered his favorite special. After the waiter retreated, Regulus poured himself another glass of wine.

When Regulus finally spoke, it wasn’t a question. “You know, the winds are blowing new directions these days, however your parents might rage about it. Partners who were considered unsuitable when I was a boy might now be deemed… acceptable, even if not ideal.”

“Is that so,” Caelum said blankly, hoping beyond hope that Regulus would drop the subject. _Fuck, how far has that rumor spread?_

Regulus made an irritated noise. “Come now, cousin. You are not as subtle as you think yourself. And it would certainly explain your predicament. Your mother has not been quiet about her opposition to our lord's attempts to pass that marriage law."

“That’s not—”

“You are hardly the first pureblood to appreciate the charms of a young lady of slightly… lesser breeding,” Regulus said, sounding almost wistful. “Nowadays, such a dalliance need not result in family estrangement or disownment. I can ask Lord Riddle to speak to your mother and convince her to allow you to return home, perhaps even speak to Lord Potter on your behalf—”

“No,” Caelum blurted. He felt himself going red. “I don’t want to return to Dartmoor. And it’s not about a _dalliance._ ” 

It was, a little bit. But more than that, it was about Bellatrix. It was about the future he wanted for himself.

“I fail to see the precipitating factor, then. You began your apprenticeship some time ago, and you have been of age for two years,” Regulus said. “I do not know the Lestrange traditions, but most Heirs remain in their ancestral homes until they become Head of the Family.” 

Caelum hesitated. He looked down at the tablecloth.

“Caelum,” Regulus said quietly, leaning forward. “Do remember that I grew up with your mother. And I am not oblivious to the possibility that her cruelty has developed new facets as she’s aged.”

Caelum would rather have downed a whole bottle of Skele-Gro than admit his weakness to Regulus. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do,” Regulus murmured.

“Do you have any more questions?” Caelum said curtly. “I can put you in touch with Master Whitaker if you have concerns.”

Regulus sat back and sighed. “Let me know when you find a place,” he said. “I’ll authorize withdrawal from the vault with the goblins.”

They spent the rest of the lunch talking stiltedly. As Caelum spouted insipid drivel about the weather, his thoughts had too much time to wander. He didn’t like the constant conflict churning around his head these days. 

He’d lived nineteen years, smug and comfortable in his beliefs. Even as he disdained societal norms, he’d accepted his position as superior to the masses. His pure blood went hand-in-hand with power, with wealth. 

And this week, his mother had cast an Unforgivable on him. He’d left his home. He’d swallowed his pride and asked for help: first from Harriet, then from Regulus. He couldn’t pretend things were the same as they’d ever been. His only real friend was a half-blood, for Merlin’s sake.

Caelum liked Harriet; he desired her. There was no use denying it. During their confrontation in the Malfoy gardens, he’d thrown compliments at her like accusations. Didn’t she know she was supposed to be worth half of any pureblood? How dare she shine brighter than all of them combined? How _dare_ she call his world into question?

He was a researcher. He’d read potions journals since childhood, he’d finished an internship and a trip with Master Whitaker, he’d be taking his Mastery exam soon. And yet he’d passively absorbed his mother’s bile, sneering along to the SOW Party talking points, and he'd never dug deeper. The data was conspicuous in its absence. If half-bloods and Mud—Muggleborns were so obviously inferior, why hadn’t Lord Riddle proven it in the many years he’d been in power? And if they were inferior, why did Lord Riddle care so much about pushing marriages between purebloods and half-bloods, which would just weaken the blood of his supporters?

He couldn’t shake away the cold feeling of dread, even as he walked through the Lower Alleys that afternoon and waved half-heartedly at the little girl who sold flowers. Even as he sat in the shower, head tilted against the wall, letting the hot water run down his face. Even as he cooked a pot of chilli all by himself. 

He lay awake for hours that night, staring at the ceiling of Harriet’s apartment.

-O-

[HpHpHpHpHpHp]

-O-

On Saturday afternoon, Harry ate lunch with Sirius and Archie at Grimmauld Place. Sirius left to run errands, and Harry was about to head to the Alleys when Archie stopped her by the fireplace.

"Harry, I need to tell you something while it’s just us," Archie said, unusually serious.

"Of course, what is it?"

Archie ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, so. I accidentally eavesdropped on your conversation with Lestrange at the party. Also Malfoy and Rosier were there. Sorry."

She froze. "You… heard everything? And so did Draco and Aldon?"

He nodded, grimacing. "Maybe not all of it. Only up to when Dad called for me."

That splitting headache. Dom’s warnings when Draco was scanning her emotions. She was the biggest idiot in the world. _Oh no. Bellatrix._ "They must have told someone," she realized.

“I made them promise not to,” Archie assured her. 

“Well, someone blabbed, because Riddle asked Lady Lestrange about a rumor." 

"And you're still alive?" 

"So far," Harry said grimly. Her chances didn’t look good when she crossed paths with Bellatrix in the future. Although, it seemed Bellatrix saved her worst cruelty for those closest to her. Harry would never forget all the things she’d heard when Caelum was delirious, no matter how she’d tried to block it out. She couldn’t forget that Caelum had come to her for a potion, still in pain from the Unforgivable Curse his own mother had cast on him. She wouldn’t forget his guilt about Popsy’s murder.

The next time she saw Bellatrix, it might be harder for _Harry_ to keep her magic from reacting badly.

“Be careful, Harry,” Archie warned her.

“I will be.”

Archie cleared his throat. “I also wanted to talk to you about what I heard.” 

She winced. “Archie, I’d rather not discuss the details, if you don’t mind.”

“No, ugh.” He made a face. “I gotta know, Harry, what did he _say_ to you?”

“I thought you heard.”

“No, before that. You kept referencing something he said, and Lestrange gave that totally lame apology,” Archie said.

“How was it lame?” 

“He didn’t even say he was sorry!” 

“He meant it, though,” Harry said defensively.

“Suuuure he did,” Archie drew out. “Or he just wanted to get back in your pants—”

“Archie, don’t.”

“Come on, what did he say?”

Harry sighed. “It was a misunderstanding. I think when I made some reference to spending the night at your house, he took it to mean you and I were having sex.”

Archie mimed vomiting. “Gross. I just ate.”

“You flatterer,” Harry said wryly. “Anyway, so he was jealous, I suppose. He said some nasty thing that amounted to me being a slut. Which I found… distressing.”

“He called you a slut?” Archie said, outraged.

“Not in so many words…”

“And you still slept with this guy? Harry!”

“He said it afterwards,” she explained, hoping to regain some dignity.

Archie shook his head. “I’m sorry to say this, but you officially have the worst taste in blokes. Ever. They’ll give out engraved trophies, and yours will say “Worst Taste in Men’. At the awards ceremony, you’ll have to give a speech where you explain this exact story to the crowd. And I’ll re-enact that terrible apology he gave, in that smug asshole voice of his—” 

“Can you let it go? I accepted his apology, he’s my friend. I don’t care if you like it,” she snapped, perhaps unreasonably. She knew that Archie’s outrage was only because he cared about her and didn’t want to see her treated badly, but it stung that he didn’t trust her judgment. 

Archie looked taken aback. “Jeez. Fine, Miss Grouch.”

She sighed. “Sorry. I don’t mean to take it out on you.” 

“I get it. To be honest, my concern is partially selfish,” Archie confessed. “I’m worried Hermione will hear about you two somehow and think that ‘I’m’ interested in someone else. A bigoted pureblood, no less.”

Harry winced. “I’m so sorry, Archie. I didn’t even think of that. Hopefully she doesn’t socialize enough with dark purebloods to hear any rumors.” 

“I hope not. Maybe I could convince her the rumors are all shit. Try not to get caught shagging Lestrange, will you?” 

“I’ll do my best,” she said dryly. “And I promise I’ll keep you in the loop from now on.”

“Do your best? What, are you going to slip and fall into his bed—”

“I’m going now!” Harry called out, already heading toward the Floo. She shook her head in dismay as she grabbed the Floo Powder.

She was normally such a good secret-keeper, but she’d failed utterly this time. Leo knew, and now Archie, Draco, and Aldon. Bellatrix and _Riddle_ knew from whomever had spilled the truth. She wanted society to talk about her potions achievements, not who was occupying her bed! It would have been simpler to take out an advertisement in the Prophet, announcing that she’d had sex with Caelum Lestrange, and cut out the middleman. At least then she would have controlled the narrative.

Who had told Riddle? Who had started the rumor? She immediately dismissed the possibilities of Archie or Leo as impossible. Surely Draco wouldn’t throw her under the bus like that; even though he and Harry weren’t really friends, he wouldn’t betray Rigel’s trust. But then again, she hadn’t been able to talk to him since the interview had come out. Was he angrier than she thought? Angry enough to drag Harry, as Rigel’s betrothed, down in his fit of pique? She hated to think so badly of one of her best friends. But it was possible.

Aldon, she was even less sure of. He’d gotten along fine with Harry when they’d met at the gala in her third year, when they’d bonded on the balcony picking out all the drunk attendees. But his motivations were always unclear. What would he gain from spreading rumors about Harriet Potter? 

Once she returned to Hogwarts, she’d have to talk to Draco and see what he had to say for himself. Aldon Rosier would be harder to track down, now that he’d graduated. She’d only seen him twice that summer: at Rookwood and Selwyn’s wedding and at the Garden Party. 

The Floo spit her out at the Leaky Cauldron, and she wound her way down to the Alleys. She bounded up the stairs to her apartment and let herself in.

Harry stopped short in the doorway of the kitchen, where Caelum was stirring a pot on the stove, and laughed loudly. “Aren’t you the picture of domesticity?” 

He scrunched up his beautiful face at her. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“Whatcha making? Should I get you an apron for Yule?” 

Caelum dropped the spoon and stepped away, maneuvering past her into the living room. “It’s stew, has to cook for a few more hours. That old woman across the street forced the recipe upon me. She was very nosy, by the way. I told her I’m your cousin.”

“I think you are, to be fair,” she said. She didn’t know her own family tree as well as she’d memorized Archie’s for the ruse. But as she was related to Archie, she was probably related to Caelum too, if distantly.

“Fuck, Harriet, don’t say that. This is not a Walburga and Orion Black situation.”

With a laugh, Harry threw herself onto the couch and rifled through her bag for the newspaper. “Here, I bought the rental listings from the Prophet. I also checked the society section, don’t worry, no mention of you.”

“What a relief,” he said flatly, sitting beside her.

She fanned out the newspaper over her lap and bent her head to consider the options. “What about this one?” She tapped her index finger on a listing. “In Kensington?”

Caelum leaned over to read the paper. He rested his arm over the back of the couch, his body pressed against her side. Harry sternly told the butterflies fluttering in her stomach to save it for a more appropriate time.

“It’s a Muggle area,” he said disapprovingly.

“So is most everywhere, unless you want to stay in the Alleys. Isn’t your castle in a Muggle area too?”

“The land stretches far enough that it’s not really an issue. And we have strong wards, you may recall.” Caelum ran a finger down the page. “What about these? Says they’re not far from the Guild.”

“I know those. You won’t like them,” she said without thinking.

The listing was for the apartments for rent by the Guilds, the same complex she’d stayed in during her month brewing the Modified Polyjuice in the Alleys. She’d stayed in a short-term unit, only a week. It had been a suitable place for her needs, but Caelum would definitely turn his nose up at the dated features and overly floral wallpaper. 

“You’ve been there?” he asked, because of course he couldn’t let that slide. “Why?”

She gave him her best innocent smile. “Just visiting. You can go see them if you like, but I don’t think you’ll want to live there.”

“Fine. If they’re not up to _your_ standards...” He looked pointedly around her apartment. 

“What about leaving London?” Harry said. “With a Floo connection, it doesn’t really matter where you live.”

Caelum frowned. “I told you, I don’t know how to live amongst Muggles.”

“It’s not that different, I swear.”

He flipped the page of the newspaper with his free hand. His other arm had slid down so it rested more on her shoulders than the couch. “Isn’t the village outside Hogwarts all-wizarding?” he asked.

“Hogsmeade?”

“Yes. There are some townhomes for rent that sound acceptable.”

“Have you ever been to Hogsmeade?” she said skeptically. Somehow, it was hard to mesh her image of the warm and cozy Wizarding village with the poshness Caelum exuded.

“Of course,” he sniffed. “I may have gone to Durmstrang, but I did grow up here in Britain. They have an apothecary there with some decent sales.”

Caelum finding an apartment in Hogsmeade wasn’t ideal — there was a chance she’d run into him as Rigel. But he needed a safe place to live, and Hogsmeade was a good community. 

“Do you want to go see the townhomes tomorrow? Mid-afternoon maybe? I have to watch Addy in the morning,” she explained.

When Caelum didn’t answer, Harry tilted her head up towards him. His arm was still around her shoulders. He was looking at her, not the newspaper, brow furrowed like she was an Allergy Relief potion that had failed to turn lavender. 

“What?” Harry said self-consciously. 

He slowly shook his head. “Nothing. Okay, let’s go tomorrow."

-O-

[ClClClClClClClCl]

-O-

Sunday afternoon, Caelum met Harriet outside the Three Broomsticks to go see the Hogsmeade townhouse. She’d sent an owl confirming their appointment with the property owner. Once he lived on his own, he would have to purchase an owl for himself or sneak one out of the Lestrange owlery. It was too difficult to communicate without one — Floo Calling was always an option, but he hated getting ash in his hair.

They followed the directions in the letter to one of the side streets, a short walk away from Hogsmeade’s tiny business district. The property owner took one look at Caelum’s designer robes — the same ones he’d been wearing all week, _ugh_ , though he cleaned them each morning — and let them have free rein to tour the property without hovering.

Caelum had never toured a property with an eye toward acquiring it before, so he took his time. The townhouse didn’t have the imposing elegance of Dartmoor, but it was far more welcoming and less stark. The wood floors were a sturdy oak. He liked the blue-gray walls and the high-quality furnishings. The second bedroom could be converted into an occasional potions lab, for when he didn’t feel like using the Guild facilities. He thought the granite tub in the bathroom could easily fit two people.

"What do you think?" he asked Harriet.

She looked surprised to be asked, fiddling with the buttons on her shirt. "It's lovely," she offered.

"The kitchen?" Caelum walked back over to open a cabinet. "Looks good?" He had never spent much time in a kitchen before staying at Harriet's apartment; the elves brought his food to the dining room at Dartmoor.

"Yes, the preservation and cooling charms on the cupboards seem strong, and the spellwork on the stove is just like Grimmauld." She took a seat at the table, which was situated in the kitchen since there was no dining room. "It's a nice place, Caelum. It could be a good home."

Harriet had looked like she belonged, that day at the Garden Party, dolled up like a proper Heiress. So how could she look like she belonged here too, smiling in his kitchen on a rainy afternoon?

He knew, then: this was the place. And as he did a final walk-through, he knew one more terrifying truth.

Every time he tried to picture himself living in the apartment, he imagined Harry too. And they weren't even decent fantasies. Sure, he could imagine fucking her in that glorious four-poster bed, on top of green silk sheets. He wanted to discover how flushed her skin would get if they took a steamy bath together in that giant tub. But he could also see the two of them in the kitchen, learning to bake together. Harry would say it couldn't be more difficult than brewing, and he'd argue that it was servants' work, and they’d both eat brownies. What kind of fantasy was _that?_ He was a disgrace to the name of teenage boys everywhere.

He could invite her to visit over holidays, and she’d set up her cauldron in that second bedroom to demonstrate her newest genius idea. He would shake his head, call her crazy, and ask her to show him. In return, he’d show her the joys of proper haircare.

They would slip into his bed, warm and safe. She'd use her incredible magic to turn out the lights before bed (in this fantasy, Harry had no intimidating Auror father expecting her home). He would hold Harry close, the same way he had when they’d slept together. This time, she wouldn’t leave. He'd kiss her softly, slowly, like he had never kissed anyone before.

And then Caelum would tell her — he would tell her — 

Oh. 

There weren’t enough words in the English language to express how completely _fucked_ he was.

Caelum signed the lease for two years, beginning the following Monday. He didn’t bother trying to negotiate with the realtor. The price was steep, compared to the other advertisements they’d seen, but Regulus had told him to find accommodations suitable for his station. They left the realtor behind, and Caelum gave his new townhouse one last parting glance. 

The rain had stopped. Caelum and Harriet walked together down Hogsmeade’s main street. Petrichor lingered in the air, blending with the other scents of the village: butterbeer, chocolate, wet cobblestone, and sharp pine and juniper from the forest. Caelum wondered if there was a potion that smelled like that. It was a strange combination, one that promised coziness and danger all at once. 

They neared the apothecary. Harriet halted so suddenly that he ran into her side. He grabbed her hand to keep his balance.

“Sorry,” she said distractedly. 

She was looking in the window at the sign that said _Today only - 25% off all mosses, fungi, and herbs._ Caelum had to hold back a laugh. She was so predictable.

“Do you want to go in?” he asked.

“Of course I do. Come on.” 

The little bell above the shop rang as Harriet pulled him through the door. She made a beeline for the sale section, letting go of his hand to pick through a variety of medicinal mushrooms. 

Caelum examined a packet of oakmoss with only mild interest. He had his own ingredients stocked up — as soon as he snuck back to Dartmoor to liberate them and the rest of his belongings. He’d only offered to go into the apothecary since he had nowhere else to be. And he definitely wasn’t missing the feel of her hand in his.

(When had he become such a bad liar?)

Harriet flitted over to the herbs, muttering to herself. After a minute, she seemed to remember he was there, because she included a question in her stream-of-consciousness.

“Have you ever tried thyme as a substitution for oxlip?” she said. “I read a really interesting journal article about it years ago, and I was thinking particularly of the cost-saving benefits, since oxlip has become so scarce.”

It took Caelum a moment to register what she’d asked him. She was looking so seriously at that packet of thyme. When he took too long to answer, Harry turned her gaze on him, green eyes wide.

“I never tried thyme,” he said dazedly. “Mulpepper always had oxlip on hand.”

She frowned. “Yes, but haven’t you noticed the price creeping up?”

Caelum shrugged. “No, I haven’t brewed with it in a while. What potion were you thinking to substitute it in?”

While they discussed the substitution possibilities, Harry went back to looking through the ingredients. It was amazing, the way she could multitask — she could speak with him about complicated potions theory, calculate sale prices, and examine ingredients for freshness all at the same time. 

He talked her out of buying the entire stock of milk thistle, since it was less susceptible to preservative charms. It was nearing dinnertime by the time she made her purchases and they left the apothecary.

“Do you want to grab a drink?” he asked, gesturing at the local pub.

“At the Three Broomsticks?” Harry said doubtfully. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Right,” he said, resisting the urge to shove his hands into his robe pockets like a commoner. Caelum wanted to slap himself. Of course she wanted to get home to her family. She’d only gone with him to see the apartment out of pity, a sense of obligation.

“Just because we wouldn’t want to add to those rumors, and the Three Broomsticks is always busy this time of day,” Harry said. “It does sound nice, getting a butterbeer.”

There was no good explanation for the disgraceful way his heart flipped. “Hog’s Head?” He jerked his chin towards the pub further down the street.

“Don’t dark wizards go there?” she said archly.

“Not dark wizards of _our_ social class,” Caelum said. 

Harry huffed a laugh. “You’re such a snob.”

“Come on, no one will bother us,” he cajoled. “And even if they do, who the fuck cares?”

“Who cares?” she echoed, following him down the street. “I rather thought you did.”

He held the door to the pub open for her. “Well, I’m a free man now.”

“I could still destroy your reputation,” Harry said. “Maybe you don’t care what society thinks of you, but others might.” 

They sat at a small table in the back corner, and he gestured for the bartender to serve them. 

“What are they going to do now, disown me?” Caelum scoffed, trying not to let thoughts of his mother’s wand penetrate his outward bravado. “Rabastan doesn’t have children. There’s no back-up Lestrange Heir. They can’t force me to fall in line—” Caelum stopped talking as the white-haired, crotchety bartender stomped over to their table.

The bartender eyed the pair of them suspiciously. "I don’t serve alcohol to minors,” the old man snapped, staring at Harriet.

 _How can he tell by looking?_ Caelum wondered. He realized, with a twinge of discomfort, that he actually didn’t know Harriet’s birthday. Maybe she'd mentioned it and he'd forgotten, or maybe it had never come up. But she had to be turning seventeen soon.

She smiled sweetly. “I’d just like a butterbeer, if that’s all right.”

The bartender harrumphed, then switched his piercing gaze to Caelum. “You, boy?”

“Butterbeer is fine,” he said, although he could have gone for a Firewhiskey. 

“We’ll also split a cottage pie,” Harry added. At Caelum’s raised eyebrow, she tilted her chin forward. “What? I’m hungry.”

The bartender shoved two dusty butterbeer bottles towards them, then retreated into the back room. There were only a few other customers in the dilapidated pub. A hag was drinking some sort of spirit at the counter, and some wizards in hooded cloaks sat by the window.

“I’ve been to Potter Place, I know you weren’t raised in a cottage,” Caelum grumbled. “You could have ordered something decent.”

She rolled her eyes. “You can never be too grand for delicious food, however it’s called.”

“I thought you’d never been here before,” he pointed out. “How do you know it’s delicious?”

“You’re right, maybe it’s terrible here. The best shepherd’s pie in Britain is in the Lower Alleys. I’ll take you someday, if you’re very, very good.”

“What if I’m very, very bad?” Caelum said, smirking wickedly.

Harry smiled down at her drink, cheeks turning pink. “Still maybe someday,” she murmured. “But you’ll have to convince me that you can be nice to my friends.”

“But will they be nice to _me?"_

The grumpy barkeep banged a plate of unappetizing food down on their table and stalked off again without a word.

“Charming, isn’t he?” Caelum said.

“Remind you of anyone?” Harry snickered.

“Don’t start.”

The bartender had given them just one plate but two sets of silverware, which was sort of considerate, Caelum supposed. He poked the cottage pie dubiously with his fork.

Harry took a bite. “It’s… fine,” she said. 

“A glowing endorsement.” Caelum tried it himself. Well, it wasn’t the _worst_ thing he’d ever put in his mouth. And he was hungry.

“I never asked, how was your meeting with Regulus Black?” Harry said. “Obviously he gave you the money. But on a personal level.”

“It went all right. He asked me a lot of questions.”

Harry nodded encouragingly, continuing to eat.

“Some of them were about you. He practically gave the two of us his blessing,” Caelum admitted.

Harry choked on her bite of food. “I’m sorry, do we know the same Regulus Black?” she said, after she’d finished coughing.

He laughed. “He offered to have Lord Riddle speak to your father ‘on my behalf’, can you _imagine?”_

“I really can’t.” She looked disturbed.

“I told Regulus not to,” Caelum added hastily. He didn’t want her to get the wrong impression, after she’d made it clear at the Garden Party that she wasn’t entertaining the idea of marriage.

“It was a strange offer. I wonder...” she trailed off.

He was happy enough to change the subject, jumping right back into their conversation from the apothecary. She knew way more than anyone should about substitution theory, which he recalled being true even when they’d been taking lessons during the Guild internships. He wondered why she’d bothered to delve so deeply into the subject — it wasn’t particularly relevant for her research interests.

They finished the shepherd’s pie and drank another butterbeer each before the bartender’s glares became too much to ignore.

It was already dark outside when they left. They’d been at the Hog’s Head longer than he’d thought. Across the street, the bookstore worker flipped the sign in the window to _closed._

“We can Floo from the Three Broomsticks,” Harry said, setting off down the street.

The scattered street lamps gave the cobblestone street a warm yellow glow. Partway down the road, some straw bales had been abandoned. Without warning, Harry plopped down on one of the bales. Caelum looked at her dubiously — did she know how scratchy straw was? — but sat beside her anyway. 

She was staring off into the distance, where the silhouette of Hogwarts loomed over Hogsmeade. Faint lights flickered in the windows. Caelum looked at Hogwarts and then back at Harriet. 

In her eyes was something wistful, sorrowful. Something that made his throat feel tight. 

“Do you think we would have been friends?” she mused. “If we’d gone to Hogwarts together, and gone to Slytherin, and been the two resident Potions prodigies of the school?”

Caelum laughed, a little bitterly. “Fuck, are you joking? We would’ve hated each other.” 

He didn’t say that he would’ve hated _her_ more _._ He wouldn’t have tolerated a younger, half-blood girl infringing on his place, making the Potions community sit up and take notice without even trying. He’d have been jealous of her close friendship with his brat cousin, Rigel. Jealous of her talent, her easy confidence, and her doting family. She had everything he wanted.

“Maybe at first,” she said. “But I’d grow on you.”

“You’re good at that,” he agreed. His eyes wandered away from the shadow of Hogwarts to look at the stars. They glittered especially bright against the velvet blackness of the Scottish night.

Harry rested her head against his shoulder. “Which one is your constellation?” she asked, gesturing at the expanse of stars.

“Caelum is a southern hemisphere constellation,” he explained. “You can’t find it in Britain. And it’s a small and dim one, anyway. Hard to see, even if you’re looking for it in the right places.” He fell silent, tightness creeping into his throat again. 

“I bet it’s lovely.” Harry smiled up at him. 

He couldn’t bring himself to smile back. But he did take Harry’s hand in his. With his thumb, Caelum traced looping letters against her warm palm. A confession, written over her heart line.

Harry was still looking at him. Her beautiful eyes reflected the starlight, pupils blown wide. A man could get lost in those eyes. 

Oh, he was already lost.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Kit's [Breaking the Lines](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17546504) and Tsume's [no good at lip service (except when they're yours)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25820494/chapters/62722936) for inspiring some of the plot points in this chapter! Many thanks to ergonomic floor for betaing.
> 
> I also gave a nod to Daine/Numair this chapter.
> 
> Updates have been roughly every 2 weeks or so, but next chapter will be slower to come since I'll be shifting my attention to my RBE fic. :) 
> 
> Occasional aesthetic, inspiration, and moodboard posts can be found at my [Tumblr](https://floorsofsilentseas.tumblr.com/post/627732111818997760/aesthetic-for-the-mortifying-ordeal-of-being-seen) if you are interested.


	5. self-respect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple quick things-  
> 1\. Sorry for the wait - RBE captured me, and then I struggled to get this going again. Happy to do a recap on Discord for anyone who needs it. I may return to edit or tweak this chapter someday, bc I'm not 100% satisfied with it.  
> 2\. We are now wildly AU past FF12, but I still love this fic, so I'm going to keep writing it.  
> 3\. This chapter earns the rating again in Caelum's second POV. I didn't mark out with asterisks, but it's pretty much the entire section.  
> 4\. Thanks a million to Dorleing for looking this over, giving tons of helpful comments, and helping me straighten out the timeline!!

**PART 5: self-respect**

When Harry got home from Hogsmeade, it was late Sunday evening, though not past her curfew. Her parents were upstairs settling Addy down for bed. She put away her newly purchased ingredients in the lab, and then went up to her room to crawl under her own covers.

She could still feel the breeze against her skin. When she closed her eyes, she could have been back in the village, Hogwarts dark and imposing against the starry sky. Hogwarts, the catalyst for every major change in Harry’s life. Hogwarts, where she’d been through harrowing trials, where she’d accomplished more than she’d ever dreamed. But not as herself.

In the Lower Alleys, in the summer, it was easier to forget about the disconnect between the two identities she held. Easier to just be _Harry,_ Harry the Potions Brewer, Harry the duellist, Harry the girl _._ But in walked Caelum to her summer life — and here was her other world asserting itself. In the shadow of Hogwarts, every step was a reminder that she was a stranger to herself. Who was the girl she saw reflected in Caelum Lestrange’s blue eyes, the girl with potions ingredients in her pockets and butterbeer on her tongue? Who was the girl who’d hesitated by the Floo, wrestled with the urge to kiss Caelum good-bye? 

She pulled the covers over her head.

-O-

-o-

-O-

Harry spent Monday and Tuesday at home. Caelum was still staying in her apartment, until the townhouse in Hogsmeade would be ready next week. She resolved to go check on him before he left. For now, though, she wanted to spend some time with her family. August was slipping away quickly, the days left before she returned to school fading fast.

It was an average dinner in the Potter/Black/Lupin household. Harry had already finished eating, and was watching Archie scarf down some Fizzing Whizbees for dessert. She itched to go work on her healer’s kit, but she forced herself to stay with her family and savor the time together. 

“I had tea with my cousin Andy today,” Sirius was saying, apropos of nothing.

“That’s nice, Sirius.” Lily’s voice was distracted. She stared pointedly at Addy’s full plate of vegetables, while Addy pouted.

“Her daughter was there too, and she told me something interesting,” Sirius continued.

“Very cryptic, Dad,” Archie said, raising his eyebrows.

“You know that Dora is an Auror, right?”

They all nodded, except for Addy, who stuck out her tongue.

“Well, she’s passed the training program, but they still have her go out on some training missions to stay sharp. Right, James?”

“Missions she shouldn't be speaking about at tea,” James said dryly.

Sirius waved a hand. “Don’t be a fusspot, she didn’t tell me anything important enough to go in her actual report. Anyway, Moody sent her to that dodgy pub in Hogsmeade to practice her metamorphing as undercover disguise. Criminals always suspect the blokes in cloaks, not so much the hag hiding in plain sight.”

Harry froze. _A hag in the Hog’s Head?_ Her heart sank in realization. 

Sirius gave her a small smirk. “Imagine my surprise when Dora mentioned she’d seen _you_ there, Harry.”

“Harry?” Lily said in surprise. “When did you go to Hogsmeade?”

“There was a sale at the apothecary there on fungi and herbs,” Harry said smoothly. “I just Flooed over to pick some things up.”

James frowned. “But why would Tonks have seen you from the Hog’s Head?”

“Three Broomsticks was crowded and I fancied a butterbeer,” Harry said, less smoothly. Archie was sending her increasingly quizzical looks from across the table.

Sirius, on the other hand, did not look confused. He was still smirking, and she knew, from the glint in his eyes, that Tonks had told him more than he was saying. “Is there anything else you’d like to share with the family, Harry?”

“I got a great deal on milk thistle.” She widened her eyes at Sirius in a variation of The Look, daring Sirius to break her fragile little heart.

“I don’t know if I like the idea of you going into the Hog’s Head by yourself,” Lily said, sounding worried.

James shook his head. “I know Aberforth. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Maybe tell us next time, though, Harry.”

“Aberforth?” Archie asked.

“The bartender at The Head,” James said. “Dumbledore’s brother.”

Lily seemed to accept that, and Archie, ever the peacemaker, steered the conversation in a safer direction. Harry contributed her thoughts on the ethics of using Anapneo on choking strangers, when victims were unable to give consent. But she could tell by Sirius’s eyes on her that he wasn’t finished. When the meal finished and Harry escaped to her lab, she wasn’t surprised that he followed her down the stairs.

“Have a minute?”

“Sure, Uncle Sirius,” she said, resignedly.

Sirius pursed his lips in clear disapproval. “Are you going to thank me for not ratting you out?”

Harry tilted her head in a picture of confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“We both know Dora told Andy and me a bit more than what I relayed to your parents.”

“Did she?” Harry said, widening her eyes innocently. “It’s true, I did pick up some thyme as well as the milk thistle.”

Sirius huffed. “Don’t be evasive. Sometimes I could swear you’re the Slytherin in the family. Dora said you were looking extremely — what’s the word she used, _cozy_ — with the Lestrange kid. Bellatrix’s _son_. That you shared the same meal and laughed and stared into each other’s eyes and held hands.”

“I don’t think we were holding hands.” Harry tried to remember. He’d grabbed her hand outside the apothecary to keep his balance, and again later in the evening, but not in the Hog’s Head. Had he?

Sirius coughed. “That’s the part you take exception to? Good gods, Harry. I knew you brewed with Lestrange sometimes, but now you’re _dating_ him? Dating him without telling your family, might I add!”

“It wasn’t a date,” Harry said immediately. 

It had just been two friends, touring an apartment together, shopping at the apothecary, grabbing a butterbeer… looking at the stars while she leaned her head on his shoulder… 

Well, that did sound a little like a date.

Sirius looked completely unconvinced. “What does Bellatrix think of this?”

Harry hesitated. Caelum hadn’t wanted to involve Sirius, but she could tiptoe around the truth. “She strongly disapproves.” _Understatement of the century._

Sirius’s face twisted — she knew he hated to agree with Bellatrix on anything. “And he doesn’t care about his parents’ approval?”

She bit her lip. It wasn’t her place to tell him what Bellatrix had done. “He moved out. So I guess not.”

“He ran away from home?” Sirius’s jaw dropped. "What, like I did?"

“It’s not running away, he’s of age,” she clarified.

“Let me get this straight. Your boyfriend, Heir to perhaps _the_ most conservative pureblood dynasty in Britain, moved out of his manor just for you?”

“He's not my boyfriend,” Harry corrected. “And it’s a castle, not a manor. And it really wasn’t for me, specifically. Would _you_ want to live with Bellatrix Lestrange?”

Sirius ran a hand down his face, sighing. “James is going to hate this.” 

“He doesn’t need to know."

“You’ll have to tell your parents eventually.” Sirius evidently hadn’t bought her ‘it wasn’t a date/he’s not my boyfriend’ protestations, however _technically_ true they were.

“I already talked to Mum about it.”

“No, you didn’t,” Sirius said shrewdly.

“I did so! I just didn’t name names.”

“Names are important.”

He wasn’t wrong. A name was an identity, a sense of self, a tie to family and connections and belonging _._ Caelum was a Lestrange; that meant something. Harry was a Potter — and Harry was also Rigel Black. 

“They really don’t need to know,” Harry insisted. “He’s not my boyfriend. I don’t tell them every time I hang out with Hermione on the weekends at school.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. "He's not your boyfriend, okay. He only takes you on dates and brings you flowers because he's being _friendly,_ is that it?"

"How did you know about the flowers?" she said, taken aback. 

Sirius groaned. "Are you kidding me, Harry? That was a joke. Lestrange didn’t really bring you flowers.”

“Just once,” Harry defended, internally cursing herself for giving herself away. “And it wasn’t like that. He happened to pick them up from a street vendor. Coincidentally.” She couldn’t explain the context of Margo, and the Lower Alleys, and the supposed need for directions to her apartment.

Her uncle laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Oh no. James really messed up your social education; suppose he figured you’d never be in this position. Pureblood boys don’t bring flowers to someone all willy-nilly, no _way_ they didn’t teach that kid all about courting rituals. ‘Happened to pick them up’ my arse.” 

“It wasn’t a courting ritual. He needed a favor.”

“A favor,” Sirius said dryly. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?” His raised eyebrows said he hadn’t missed Harry’s deep blush.

“A potions-related favor," she elaborated.

“Harry,” Sirius sighed, “I don’t really want to know the answer to this question, but I feel I have to ask, as the next best thing to a responsible adult in this situation. When you were down in your lab with Lestrange for hours unsupervised, you weren’t… uh, up to no good?”

Harry put a hand to her mouth in affront, though her cheeks were still hot. “In my _lab_? Do you think so little of me? That would violate every hygiene standard.”

“And you haven’t snuck him into Potter Place when James wasn’t looking?”

“Never,” Harry said. “Now, Grimmauld Place — hmm, no, I don’t think you need to know.” 

Sirius opened his mouth to say something, grimacing, but he seemed to catch on as she dissolved into laughter. 

“Just a joke, Uncle Sirius,” Harry explained.

"Oh, good." Sirius patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. "Glad you're making safe choices. Better than James and I made at your age."

" _I_ didn't need to know that," she said, wrinkling her nose. She tried not to think of the many risks she had taken that Sirius had no idea about. Compared to the ruse, making the choice to have sex with an older boy (even Caelum Lestrange) seemed positively tame. Wait… “When you say ‘James and I’…?”

Sirius spread his hands, grinning widely, and bounded up the stairs.

-O-

[Clclclclclcl]

-O-

The monotony of the quiet Sunday morning was interrupted by a loud crack, echoing through the small apartment on Dogwood Lane. Caelum’s head jolted up from his research. Hestin the house-elf stood there, in his tea-towel, wringing his hands nervously.

“Master Caelum, now is the time!” Hestin said squeakily. “Mistress is saying she is being gone for at least an hour. I can be Apparating you to your bedroom.”

Caelum focused on keeping himself from shaking as he reached out to take Hestin’s arm. His parents wouldn’t be there. He didn’t have to be afraid — he _wasn’t_ afraid.

Hestin Apparated them, and after the whirl of disorientation, Caelum found himself in his bedroom. 

“Master Caelum is to be calling me when he is ready to leave!” Hestin warned, before popping off, probably to the kitchens. 

Caelum was alone again.

Even knowing the wards as he did, Caelum was hesitant to use his wand to pack up. It had been over two weeks since he'd left Dartmoor the last time.. His parents hadn’t set him to be classified as an intruder, evidently (he wasn’t sure if they even could, when he was still the Heir), but it was possible they’d be alerted by his use of magic.

He didn’t have the time to dither. He waved his wand, opening his drawers and his wardrobe. Clothing soared across the room toward the bag he’d enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm. He’d never quite mastered the flick of a wand for a perfect robe fold — that was servants’ work — but it was enough for now. Towels flew toward him from the adjoining bathroom, along with extra sets of sheets and blankets. Over a week in Harriet’s apartment had reminded him of the importance of fabric quality.

Caelum threw open his old school trunk from Durmstrang. There wasn’t much there. Caelum wasn’t sentimental. He’d kept notes from his experiments and his internship, plus the occasional newspaper clipping — all of his books and potions journals were stored in the nicer bookshelves in the North Tower. His old fur-lined robes, which had kept him warm at Durmstrang, were several years out of style. But Scotland would be chilly come winter, even with Heating Charms and a roaring fire. Best to take it all, and not need it later, than to leave anything behind.

As he shook out the robes, a stack of letters fell to the ground from where they’d been tucked inside the folds. They were roughly tied together with twine. Caelum paused.

Seven years he’d spent away at school. Seven years, and only this diminutive pile of letters to show for it. One brief missive from Regulus for each of Caelum’s birthdays. Three letters from Caelum’s godfather, asking about potions and, once, about Harriet. One from Bellatrix and Rodolphus, his very first year at Durmstrang. He’d read it once and never again… but he’d never been able to bring himself to throw it out.

Harriet’s letters weren’t part of the pile. He’d kept those hidden in the lab, in the drawer marked “basilisk scales.” No one would look there. The drawer had been sitting unfilled for years.

Caelum put the letters, the robes, and the school notes away in his bag. He stood up and turned to gaze around the bedroom that had been his for nineteen years. 

It felt empty. It had felt empty before he’d ever packed to leave. 

In the tower lab, Caelum spent as much time as he dared removing the ingredients and potions journals (and Harriet’s letters) and stowing them carefully in his bag. Nearly forty minutes later, Caelum hurried down the south corridor toward the main library. He had no time to waste, if he didn’t want to run into Bellatrix on her return. But there was a collection of family journals in the library that he intended to grab before calling for Hestin to Apparate him back out — 

Caelum stumbled backward, his heart jumping in his chest. “Augustus!” 

His godfather stared at him from the library doorway. Augustus Rookwood hardly ever set foot in Dartmoor. Caelum had the horrible feeling that Augustus’s business there had something to do with _him._

“Caelum, what a surprise,” Augustus said, tone completely flat. “Rodolphus was just telling me he hadn’t seen you in two weeks. And yet here you are."

“Was he?” Caelum gripped his wand in the long folds of his sleeve. “That’s true.”

Caelum had always had a complicated relationship with his godfather. There was a reason he hadn't even thought of the man when he was trying to find a way to afford his new apartment. Augustus was quieter than Bellatrix, smarter than Rodolphus, more cunning than Rabastan. He had all of Regulus's self-confidence, with far less conscience. Augustus had never raised his wand to Caelum — but Caelum was no fool (at least not in this respect). Augustus Rookwood was the furthest thing from trustworthy.

He knew some of what Augustus did in the Department of Mysteries. Augustus was undeniably involved in his father and uncle’s plans for the Shaped Imbued Battle Potions that Caelum had been working on before the world had upended around him. 

“And where have you been, then?” Augustus asked, tilting his head in apparent confusion.

“Anywhere else,” Caelum spat. “I know you know why, _godfather._ ”

Augustus smiled humorlessly. “So I do.” There was a beat of silence, as Caelum watched his godfather’s wrinkled face, and Augustus looked at Caelum without a trace of kindness in his eyes. 

“Your father has asked me to Obliviate you,” Augustus said.

Caelum snapped his wand up to defend, a Fortis shield blooming around him. But there was no spell coming his way. 

Augustus just laughed, his salt-and-pepper beard twitching. “You are too rash by far, Caelum,” he said, tone turning severe. “Too rash, too arrogant, too impatient. Is it any wonder your parents have had to take you in hand? More a wonder that Master Whitaker hasn’t already given up on making something of you. There is no place in academia for you — speaking without thinking, alienating your betters, acting with reckless disregard. How could anyone ever respect a child like you, begging so obviously for just a scrap of attention? Just one person to look your way? And yet, when you finally have the attention you crave, you fail. You disappoint. Again and again.”

Caelum didn’t lower the shield. But neither could he muster up the words to defend himself. Because Augustus had turned the tables on him, taken Caelum’s own talent and flung it back in his face. He knew exactly what to say to cut Caelum to the quick.

“I told your father I wouldn’t. Obliviating that half-blood bitch out of your consciousness wouldn’t fix the real problem. You're chasing after that slut because she reminds you of yourself: _weak_. Talentless. You’re not worthy to represent your parents’ legacy, or the Party. I advised Rodolphus to disown you and stop dragging out the inevitable. Oh, don’t flinch, you coward." Augustus sneered. “He refused. Not until there is a viable alternative Heir.”

Caelum _had_ flinched. For all his bravado with Harry in Hogsmeade, the word _disown_ was a specter he didn’t know how to face. He’d left Dartmoor — he was only back to gather his possessions. But it was one thing to leave behind the castle, and another thing to leave behind the world he knew, the lessons he’d learned within these walls.

He’d learned to brew in Dartmoor Castle. He’d learned to fear. He’d learned to fight. He’d never learned when to walk away.

They stood there for another moment. Caelum let his Fortis shield fade; he hadn’t the magic to sustain it forever. Later, he thought, he would agonize over every word of that cruel speech. But now?

It was excruciating to meet Augustus’ cold gaze. He did anyway. “You’re wrong about Harriet,” Caelum said at last. "She’s got more talent than everyone I know put together."

Augustus scoffed. “You’ll defend her, but not yourself? A new low.”

Caelum shrugged. “If you say so,” he said, more bravely than he’d thought himself capable of. “Tell my father you saw me, if you want. It makes no difference to me.”

“You’re not a good liar.” August smiled without humor. “Go, then, boy. Run away from your responsibilities, wait in terror wondering when the letter of disownment will come. Good luck making something of yourself in the _real_ world, without your parents’ money and your family name greasing doors for you.”

“Luck is for those without skill,” Caelum said, tilting his head with forced arrogance. “Good-bye, godfather.”

-O-

[Hphphphp]

-O-

Harry looked up from her book to the fireplace for the fifteenth time. Caelum had mentioned that he’d been in contact with his house-elf about the possibility of returning to his family’s house to retrieve his belongings. When she’d stopped by her apartment today, he’d been gone, so she could only assume he’d gone to accomplish that. 

She looked at the fireplace again, letting her book on complicated venom antidotes fall to the couch beside her. Harry had to admit that nervousness had started to overcome her as the minutes ticked by. Where was he? Had something gone awry?

She could have lent him her invisibility cloak, but he hadn't asked for her help before going. He’d be fine, she assured herself. He had his house-elves, who obviously cared for him and would help keep him out of harm’s way. Out of his parents’ way. But the fireplace stayed empty no matter how she stared at it. 

From the kitchen came a _crack,_ quickly followed by another.

“Caelum?” she called, cursing the nervousness that came through in her tone.

Caelum poked his head out of the doorway. “Oh,” he said. “Didn’t expect you.”

“Thought I’d catch you before you moved tomorrow. Did you get everything?”

He nodded and moved into the living room proper, setting down the bag on his shoulder with exaggerated gentleness. “I had to leave some ingredients behind for time, but I took all the ones that were hard to acquire.”

“All the illegal ones, you mean,” she said dryly, scrutinizing him. He looked flushed, maybe more tousled than usual, but didn’t seem injured.

He scrunched up his elegant nose. “We’ve been through this before. You didn’t seem too fussed about illegal ingredients when we were living out your mermaid fantasy.”

She looked at him sharply, suddenly reminded of Owens. “Whatever did you do with your dose, anyway?”

“Gave it away.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m perfectly capable of casting a Bubble-Head Charm. You know, I bet you could use your imbuing method with that spell and end up with a similar effect to Liberespirare...”

Harry stored that thought away for later. “Who’d you give it to?”

He frowned. “My uncle. He asked about something similar and I didn’t feel like brewing a new potion. What’s with the interrogation, Potter?”

“Nothing,” she said. The aftermath of the tournament was Rigel’s concern, not Harry’s. She’d have to fill Archie in later. “Am I Potter again?”

“When you’re acting like I’m a suspect in something, you are,” Caelum retorted. 

Harry got to her feet and changed the subject. “Do you need help moving your things into Hogsmeade tomorrow?”

The annoyance in his face faded, and he regarded her with thoughtful eyes. “If you want. You can help me organize my books. Alphabetical order is so overrated.”

“By subject is the way to go.”

There was an uncomfortable silence between them, standing across the room from each other, at a distance further than the strictest etiquette would require. “If you have other things to do, I am perfectly capable—” he started to say, at the same time that she said, “What time should I meet you—” 

Harry gestured that he should speak first.

Caelum rubbed his neck and looked down. “10 in Hogsmeade?” 

“10 in Hogsmeade.”

After saying an awkward good-bye, Harry headed out, picking up the crate of potions she’d left by the door. She’d been meaning to deliver a shipment of Blood-Replenishers to Maywell, donated from the Serpent’s Storeroom. Krait was hardly charitable in most cases, but he’d been asked specifically for Harry’s work. 

She headed down Dogwood Lane to the clinic. Mrs. Hurst was already in the lobby, showing the receptionist something on a clipboard. The older woman beamed at Harry and gestured her into the backroom.

“Harriet! How have you been?” Mrs. Hurst greeted her.

“Same as always,” Harry said.

Leo’s mother laughed. “Somehow, I don’t believe you.”

Harry shrugged, shame-faced, as she unloaded the crates. She always forgot that Mrs. Hurst was so attuned to lies, even small ones.

“How’s that boy of yours?” Mrs. Hurst asked. Her tone was so casual that Harry didn’t process the words for a moment.

“What boy?” she asked, genuinely baffled.

Mrs. Hurst raised an eyebrow. "I may not know as much about what goes on in the Alleys as Leo, but my son does talk to me on occasion."

“Oh. You mean Caelum?” 

Mrs. Hurst nodded as if it were obvious. 

“He’s well,” Harry said, unsure how to answer. “Why do you ask?”

Mrs. Hurst gave her a smile heavy with disbelief.

“Oh. I mean, I don’t think Caelum was pleased about —” Harry faltered. “Leo wasn’t very — there was a bit of a conflict—”

“No need to trouble yourself to be polite on my behalf,” Eleni said wryly. “I’m well aware that Leo doesn’t always make the best choices.”

Harry sighed. “I never wanted to hurt Leo. I never want people to be hurt because of me.” 

She was sharply aware of all the hurt and betrayal she’d piled up, waiting to tip over, during the course of the ruse. Her family, her friends, all the lies balancing on the edge of a knife. She didn’t want her love life to be the source of _more_ hurt. Not to Leo. Not to Caelum. Not to herself.

“Sometimes, dear, people will be hurt even when you haven’t done anything wrong. Leo will be all right,” Mrs. Hurst said, voice painfully kind. “Your friendship means the world to him. He just needs some time to process.”

Harry tipped her head in acknowledgement. “Don’t we all?”

-O-

-o-

-O-

The next morning, Harry waited for Caelum outside his new townhouse, off the main Hogsmeade street. She’d learned her lesson that Hogsmeade wasn’t as out of the reach of gossip as she’d hoped, even in the quiet summer days when Hogwarts students were all home. Soon, she’d be back at the castle. She'd watch the village through classroom windows and visit only on Hogsmeade weekends. 

Caelum arrived wearing robes she hadn’t seen before. Now that he’d had the chance to remove his wardrobe from his old residence, she doubted he’d ever wear the same outfit twice in a row for the rest of his life. He had only his small shoulder bag. She really needed to ask him if he had any tips for Undetectable Extension Charms; hers weren’t nearly so artful.

“Hi,” she said, smiling at him. 

“Hi,” Caelum echoed. The informal greeting sounded awkward in his accent. He fumbled with an old-fashioned gold key to open the door.

Harry followed him up the stairs. In the entrance to the living room, he stopped for a moment. His chest fluttered in and out as he took quick, panicky breaths, hand planted on the wall. She pretended to be engrossed in inspecting the couch. She’d already seen the place when she’d accompanied Caelum on his tour. The provided furnishings were all the same. The shelves and drawers sat empty, waiting. Harry waited, too.

“Can you unpack my books?” he said, not looking in her direction. “I’m going to go cast some spells to make sure my ingredients will stay in optimum condition in the other room.”

Harry nodded, then said, “All right,” when he still didn’t look at her. He retreated down the hall to where she remembered the second bedroom was, leaving his shoulder bag on the living room floor.

Hesitantly, she sat cross-legged on the floor and reached into the bag. As an academic, being trusted with someone’s books was serious. His guild journal collection was older than hers, she noticed. The first one she unearthed was an issue that had come out when she’d been three years old — he would have been about seven.

Harry carefully began stacking the journals and books by topic and subtopic. Her fingers lingered on the September 1988 issue of Potions Quarterly. Master Whitaker’s first cover, when he’d published his groundbreaking research on Polyjuice. It was a coveted issue, one she’d read in the Guild library, but never been able to get a permanent copy of herself. Reluctantly, she put it with the other journals and continued pulling out new books. 

The majority of Caelum’s library was Potions-related, but he also possessed some Dark Arts texts. She clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh at the copies of _Enchantment in Baking_ and _One Minute Feasts - It's Magic!,_ flawless in new dustcovers. They earned their own pile.

As the stacks grew around her, there was silence from the room down the hallway. Harry didn’t know what she expected to hear; Caelum was more than powerful enough to cast his preservation spells nonverbally. There was no screeching from rearranging furniture. No soft curses. Nothing.

 _Stop fussing,_ Harry told herself. If he was having a quiet panic attack in the other room, that was his business. He didn’t want her right now, or he wouldn’t have asked her to stay in the living room with the books, when he _knew_ she could have helped with the spellwork. 

She scowled a little too ferociously down at the next papers she drew out of the bag, which were… letters? Her hands moved to stack them with the journals, but her eye was drawn by the letter on top.

It was in her handwriting.

_Lestrange,_

_If you're so interested, come and find out. Let's have lunch in the alleys._

_Harry_

She remembered corresponding with Caelum before they’d gone out to eat and talk Potions, although all the different letters tended to blend together in her mind. She hadn’t remembered penning these exact words, because there was nothing to them. It had been a short, trivial missive. Inconsequential. So why, then, had he held on to it? She certainly hadn’t kept the corresponding cold responses. 

Harry kept staring at the piece of parchment, running her thumb over the creases in the corner. Footsteps sounded down the hall. 

Caelum had his wand out, held loosely in his hand, and he gazed down at her consideringly. “You can sit on the couch, you know.” Caelum raised his eyebrows.

“I don’t mind the floor.” 

To her surprise, Caelum sat down beside her, tucking his legs underneath him on the rug. Harry casually slid the letter in her hand back beside the others in the small pile. His eyes followed the motion, and he flushed.

He visibly hesitated before reaching to touch her hand, his pinky brushing against hers. “I don’t receive a lot of correspondence.”

“Right.” 

Caelum’s gaze dipped down to her lips, then back up to meet her eyes. “Do you want to go get something for lunch? I can finish shelving these later.”

Harry pulled her hand away. “No, I should go.” 

Her talk with Sirius had reminded her of the strange precariousness of their situation, and yet here she was again, forgetting. She wasn’t his girlfriend, and she needed to stop slipping into acting like she was. So what if he’d kept her letters? So what if he was acting like they were already together? 

“Oh,” Caelum said. 

She grimaced as she got to her feet. “I’m sorry. I just — you’re set up here. I need to take care of some things. Take some time now. Like I said at the Garden Party.”

Harry hurried down the stairs to the street before he could respond. She left Caelum sitting on the rug, alone in his new home.

-O-

-o-

-O-

Snape had finally arranged a time to meet with Harry at the Guild to work on her healing kit on Thursday. She’d continued her research and experimentation during the three weeks since the Garden Party, but she had to admit she’d been distracted by Caelum. It was hard to think about the best ingredients to burn out infection when she was wondering if Caelum had taken another dose of Sullivan’s Soothing Solution, when she was looking warily around every corner for Bellatrix Lestrange. It was past time to get back to her inventions.

As Harry walked into the Guild lobby, she automatically approached Professor Snape, who was standing by the hallway with a displeased expression. Her step faltered as she registered that he wasn’t alone. 

“I cannot believe you, Severus, honestly. You must know what situation this has put me in,” the dark-haired man with his back to Harry was saying. His voice was familiar, poshly accented and tinged with frustration.

“That is not my concern,” Snape said curtly. “You are hardly in a position to rebuke _me_ , considering—”

Snape cut himself off as he caught sight of Harry, nodding a greeting to her. His conversation partner turned. Regulus Black was almost unrecognizable, uncharacteristically inelegant, with dark circles under his eyes.

“Miss Potter.” The tiredness in Regulus’s voice overwhelmed any hint of the condescension that was usually present when he spoke to Harry. 

“Master Snape, Master Black,” she greeted uncertainly. 

“I’m sorry to say that I have an appointment,” Snape said to Regulus, not sounding sorry at all. "I will see you next week at tea."

Regulus gave Snape a scathing look. “Good- _bye_ , Severus.” He swept out of the lobby to the street without another backward glance.

Harry watched him go with bemusement. In every social situation she’d ever seen him in, Regulus had been tightly constrained with his peers and other Party members, only showing obvious irritation when it came to Sirius or to her (as Rigel or as Harry). His fit of pique with Professor Snape was, to put it plainly, _odd._

For a moment, neither she nor Snape said anything. Then, with a jerk of his hand, Snape gestured for her to accompany him down the hall. She followed him to the same lab they’d used the last time they’d brewed at the Guild. Snape was a creature of habit, she supposed. Harry missed the squishy floors she’d enchanted for him at his lab in Hogwarts. 

“Do you have the notes and samples we discussed?” Snape asked. He looked annoyed, his tone terse, but she wasn’t sure if he was still thinking about Regulus or whether the terseness was directed at her.

Harry pulled out her notes and a few bottles from her potions bag, neatly labeled, and watched with no small anxiety while Snape perused the notes. She had Reparifors, Laevopremo, and Vulnera Sanetur, as she’d told Snape at the Garden Party, and a few potions she’d worked on in June and early July. However, she hadn’t had the time to do more than theorize about Imbuing the Pacemaker Charm as she’d planned. Hopefully Snape wouldn’t be disappointed in what she’d managed to accomplish so far in the summer. There were only a few weeks left before she’d have to return to Hogwarts as Rigel — but continuing her instruction in free brewing could only help her efforts to finish the healing kit.

“I was correct that the Vulnera Sanetur potion shouldn’t interact with Blood Replenisher,” Snape said, frowning down at the list. “Are you at all worried about the cost of dittany resulting in increased cost for the final potion? Affordability was one of your main concerns about the base, if I recall.”

Harry sighed. She’d stewed over the same issue. “Yes, but I really think dittany is necessary to effect the same dramatic Healing results as the original spell. I haven’t tested it on wounds yet, of course, but I think any affordable substitute will dilute the power, making the potion closer in efficacy to the Episkey variation.”

Snape hmmed. “Perhaps the Episkey would make more sense to sell commercially, with the Vulnera Sanetur reserved for emergency responding Healers.”

“But if the potion won’t be available to the public, is it even necessary?” Harry asked. “Healers can cast the spell without the aid of a potion. I want my potions to help people who might not have the knowledge — or the power — to cast it for themselves.”

“How altruistic,” Snape said. His acidic tone reminded her painfully of Caelum and the awkward conversation the three of them had been part of. Maybe that had something to do with Snape’s frosty demeanor.

But Professor Snape had never been demonstrative, she reminded herself, and Harry did not enjoy the same close relationship with him that Rigel did. Rigel could tease Snape, offer conflicting opinions, even get angry at him without too many repercussions. His mentorship with Harry was newer. More distant. Harry was not the student who’d brewed for the Sleeping Sickness. She hadn’t spent countless hours in the lab as his protegé, hadn’t come to him for advice dealing with Draco, hadn’t relied on him for assistance in the tournament, hadn’t learned free brewing at his side. It wasn’t the same.

Harry spent the afternoon demonstrating her progress, with Snape’s approval, but she couldn’t help the sense of loss and frustration burning through her. She would be Rigel again soon enough. Back to free brewing, back to her close relationship with Professor Snape. But no matter who she was, there was always something to hide.

  
  


-O-

-o-

-O-

The letter came in the flood of owls intended for Rigel Black. Sirius and James had insisted on checking them for hexes and curses. Once they’d been approved by the parents, each letter made its way to the piles currently sitting in front of Harry and Archie.

_Black —_

_I read that article in the_ Prophet. _I heard you were talking about some research. The stuff about half-bloods and muggleborns, power levels and affinities, and the employment and education figures too. Send your bibliography to Hogsmeade post office, box 245._

_— Anonymous questioner_

The words themselves weren’t too different from other, similar letters they’d received in response to the article. Young, curious purebloods, most likely from Neutral families. This letter didn't stand out from the pile for what it said.

No, it was the greeting — a terse “Black”, rather than the formal “Heir Black” or more friendly “Rigel Black.” The ink was darker there, indented in the parchment, where the writer had dug their quill in with force. The words themselves were slightly smeared; the anonymous questioner hadn’t let the letter dry long enough before rolling it up and owling it out. 

And more than any of those quirks, the handwriting… she recognized it. The ostentatious swirl of the y and the crisp edges of the t. It was bolder than Pansy’s soft writing, larger than Draco’s narrow script. More refined than Archie’s wild loops. 

“Did you respond to this one yet?” she asked Archie, eyes never leaving the parchment. 

“Nope, that’s the newest pile,” Archie said cheerfully. “You can respond. I’m using the dictation quill to match your Hogwarts handwriting, anyway — no one would know mine except the family. And it’s your recommended reading list, in the first place.” 

“Right. I’ll respond.” She stood and stretched, leaving the other inquiries on the table to be reviewed later. The presence of _this_ letter had caught her off guard. 

_I want to know,_ said the letter, _about half-bloods._

Alone in her room, Harry read the letter over and over, while she paced the floor. It would be premature to get her hopes up that Caelum was changing the way he thought about blood purity. It was just a letter — a starkly worded letter asking for information. But it was a letter to _Rigel Black_ , despite the difficult history between them. He hadn’t just been sitting around, waiting for Harriet to decide what she wanted. He was seeking out sources; that showed _some_ degree of willingness to change. 

She’d doubted some purebloods were even capable of change. Hadn’t she told Archie, when they’d published the article, that it wouldn’t affect the most entrenched minds? And yet here was Caelum, the Lestrange Heir, Bellatrix Lestrange’s son, writing to Rigel Black and asking to learn more.

Maybe that wasn’t such a surprise. She and Caelum had been friends for a while, and just being friends with a half-blood was more than many Dark purebloods could imagine. Sleeping with one? Unconscionable. So Caelum hesitating on bigotry wasn’t a shock _,_ exactly. And yet, it _was._

His instinct when he’d been angry had still been to insult her on the basis of blood status (and her supposed promiscuity, but that was a whole different discussion). Even when he’d admitted he wanted her, wanted to be with her, he’d couched it in hypotheticals. Yes, he wanted her, did she want him? She was supposed to be figuring that out now. They’d danced around the issue of blood and bigotry, but it was a lingering wound, festering under every question of _trust_ and _friendship_ and _attraction._

Harry sat at her desk and picked up a Dictoquill to mimic Archie's loopy handwriting. Caelum was the only person outside her family who would recognize the small, neat script of Rigel Black to actually be Harriet Potter's. Well, him and Leo.

She listed dozens of book and journal articles written in English, anything she could think of that would offer him a more unbiased view into blood politics than the SOW Party's propaganda. Statistics on the Fade. Data about power levels and affinities. Not for nothing was Rigel one of the most well-read students in Magical Theory at Hogwarts. No way he'd have time to read them all — she doubted he'd even be able to obtain some of these titles — but she gave him everything.

The research was in his hands now. She had a different choice in hers. 

-O-

-o-

-O-

On August 31st, at 5:06 in the afternoon, Harriet Potter walked up a side street in Hogsmeade, alone. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and knocked on a pale blue door.

There was silence for a while. Then, very loud stomps.

“I told you, I don’t want to join the damn homeowner’s association, I’m _renting_ —” Caelum wrenched open the door. He cut himself off as he saw Harry, face turning bright red. With the door open, she could hear faint music coming from inside the house.

“Are you sure? We have a great group deal on de-gnoming if you get in now.” Harry grinned at him. “Can I come in? I’ve prepared a presentation that might change your mind. Opportunity of a lifetime.”

Caelum rolled his eyes, but held the door open for her to enter. “I have a potion on stasis in the other room — do you mind?” 

“Of course not,” she assured him, glancing around as she walked inside. He’d finished unpacking, it seemed, and possibly gone shopping as well. The polished walnut bookcase in the living room was full of the texts, scrolls, and journals that she’d organized for him. There was a portrait on the wall of someone she didn’t recognize: a dark-haired beauty in elegant robes, who winked at Harry. She pushed down a ridiculous pang of jealousy. 

She followed him down the hall to the spare bedroom, which he’d converted as promised into a makeshift potions lab. It didn’t have the majesty of his tower lab in Dartmoor, but it was practical. A worktable that looked suspiciously like the ones from the Guild sat in the middle of the room, a cauldron atop it, knives and ingredients scattered on the adjoining stool. A Wizarding Wireless stood on a table in the corner: the source of the music. It cut off abruptly at a wave of Caelum's wand.

"Was that Celestina Warbeck?" Harry asked, holding back a laugh. She hadn't recognized the jaunty pop tune.

"I don't know," Caelum muttered. "I put on whatever. I don't like silence."

Unfortunately for him, there was silence then.

Caelum waved his hand over the cauldron, taking off the stasis spell wandlessly. Was he trying to show off for her? There was no need. She was already experienced with his magical and potions-related capabilities. 

“So, did you need something, or is this a social visit?” Caelum asked eventually, blue eyes flicking up to hers before returning to the stirring rod in his hand.

She plopped down on the bench opposite his worktable, putting her elbows on the table and leaning forward to watch him work. “Both. I wanted to see you again before I left for school. And so we could finally have… you know, a talk.”

He added a counter-clockwise stir. Peering at the ingredients, she guessed he was brewing some version of Calming Draught, but it wasn’t the standard recipe. Rebrewed for someone allergic to lavender, perhaps? A variant to reduce the side effect of drowsiness? She would have to ask another time.

“A talk,” he echoed. “It’s been a while.”

“Right. I said I needed time… and I’ve taken it. Sometimes it felt like there wasn’t enough time in the world.” Harry gave a nervous laugh. “But I’m here now. I want to tell you what I think.”

She could see him swallow, see his hand jerk as he dropped a handful of crushed chamomile leaves into the cauldron. “All right. What have you been thinking about?”

“A lot. I never stop thinking, it seems.” She smiled self-deprecatingly. “I think… starting a relationship with you sounds dangerous. Literally, knowing your family, and emotionally too. It would be a bad idea.” 

“So that’s it, then?” Caelum’s tone was razor-sharp, but he took a deep breath and visibly reeled himself back. “Fine. We can still brew together, right?” 

Harry raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t say my decision. I only said it was a bad idea. But I’ve been known to make some risky decisions, in my life… and sometimes, they’ve turned out to be pretty spectacular.”

His stirring slowed. She hoped that was what the potion called for, and had nothing to do with the way he was staring at her. “They don’t have to be involved,” he said abruptly.

“What?”

“My parents. I don’t live with them. I’ve — I’ve already made my choice. And it was easier than I ever thought it would be.” He gripped the stirring rod so tightly that his knuckles went white. “If that’s your concern, nobody has to know about us. It could be a secret. If that’s what you want.” 

“It’s hardly secret when there’s gossip about us already!” Harry pointed out, huffing incredulously.

“Yeah, baseless gossip.”

“I think you and the rest of the world have a very different idea of ‘baseless’.” 

“You’re not the first girl I’ve had sex with, yet somehow I avoided being the subject of rumor in the past.” He flushed red as he added a pinch of powder from a mortar to his bubbling potion.

Harry shook her head. “As far as you know. And I doubt you stared at them like you wanted to repeat the experience in front of the entire SOW Party.”

“That was a lapse in judgement,” Caelum said, disgruntled. “The staring. Not the experience.”

“No?” she asked, biting her lip. “Even after what happened with your mother, you don’t regret it?”

There was no pause, no hesitation, before his answer. “No. I don’t regret it. At the time, I thought I might. But I didn’t. I don’t.”

“That’s good to know,” Harry said softly.

“And do you? Regret it?”

She did pause. “Maybe. It hurt me a lot, what you said, everything afterwards. I didn’t want it to happen like that.”

“I know.”

“But before that day, I never knew you, not so well. And I’m glad I got the chance… I’m glad we got the chance to really see each other. In a way we didn’t before.” She smiled tentatively. “I learned a lot, about myself and what I want, from this whole experience.”

“Glad I could be of service,” he said dryly, still watching her closely.

“And I could be there for you when you needed me. So I wish some things had been different, but no, I don’t regret it all.” Harry sighed. “Looking forward, though… I just don’t know how this can work, Caelum. It would be best if we let it go, stayed friends, don’t you think?”

His eyes flickered to hers again. “You don’t want to be courted, then? You don’t want anything… romantic.”

“We shouldn’t,” she demurred. “ _I_ shouldn’t. It’s not a good idea.”

Caelum cocked an eyebrow. "I don't care about what you _should_ do. What do you want? Fuck everyone and their 'shoulds.' Haven't you ever let yourself _want_ , Harry? Have you never been selfish, for once in your life?"

It was a great irony that he was asking her this — she who had put her life in jeopardy for her ambition. She who had risked her family’s reputation and future, all to chase her own wild dreams. What had the book said about her Animagus form? _A raven is selfish—opportunistic, cunning, and hungry, it takes what it can from the world. Secret-keepers, thieves…_

"For once in my life?” She laughed bitterly. "I know how to be selfish. I've let myself want too much. Too often. All I do is want, even when I'd be smarter to convince myself to let it go, be content with less, give it all up.” She took a deep breath. “And now, it'd be so much simpler to let you go, too... easier to say I don’t want you.”

“But that isn’t true,” Caelum said. 

“No,” Harry said. “It isn’t. I can’t sit here and tell you it is. I’m so tired, Caelum. I’m so tired of lying. Pretending. I don’t have to, not about this — I _don’t have to.”_ Her words were more to herself than to him.

He kept looking at her, blue eyes bright, but he didn’t say anything.

“I don’t know if…” Harry stood up to pace around the room. She couldn’t stop picturing his expression if he ever found out the truth about the ruse, about _her_ — the betrayal that would flash across his perfect face. 

She would always be a liar. How could she be a lover?

“You do know,” he said. “Look, it wouldn’t be simple.” He snorted a laugh, unrefined, authentic. “It’s already not simple. But it could be _something._ ”

“What could it be?” she challenged, turning back to him. “We’ve already established I’m a half-blood. And you’re a Lestrange. It doesn’t matter if you’d marry me in another world. We’re in _this_ world. Who are we fooling? I don’t want to be your rebellion, Caelum, a scandalous fling before you have to grow up and take your place as Lord Lestrange. I don’t want to be somebody you leave when you get bored — and you get bored so easily! I don’t have the time or the energy to waste, if it’s not going to be something...”

“Extraordinary,” Caelum finished.

She took a shaky breath. “Yes. Extraordinary.”

He set down his stirring rod and picked up a bottle — the potion was finished. “Harriet. Please. How could anything involving you _not_ be extraordinary?”

Harry felt her cheeks go hot. “That wasn’t the point.”

There was a moment of silence as he carefully portioned out his Calming Draught variation into bottles. She wondered if he’d knock one back himself, but he didn’t. “I don’t know what to say,” he said at last. “What do you want from me?”

“We’re going in circles!” Harry made a frustrated gesture. “I want you to tell me the truth, Caelum. I can’t be with someone if they think I’m inferior. Tell me honestly that my blood status means nothing to you. Tell me I’m wrong to think I’m just a passing fling, another way to rebel against society’s expectations the way you _always do_ —” 

The ladle dropped into the cauldron with a loud clatter. He crossed the room to her in two steps. “You’re wrong _._ Fuck, how many ways can I show you? You’re my best friend, Harry! It’s not a passing fling.” 

“No?”

“No. I… I can’t tell you your blood status means nothing to me.” He winced at the admission. “You’re not inferior to _anybody._ But blood status is something I still think about. Things that pop into my head — but I’m trying not to. I'm trying to understand.”

“I know you are,” she said quietly, thinking of the anonymous letter. “Nobody can control all of their thoughts. But it’s pretty… big… that you’re recognizing they’re not thoughts you want to have.” 

She reached out to squeeze his hand. His fingers flexed against hers. Harry thought about pressing a quick kiss to his lips, but she wasn’t done yet. She hadn’t said everything she wanted.

Harry took a deep breath. “All right. I’m interested. That’s not a secret — not one I’ve kept well, at least. And we’re working on the blood supremacy indoctrination part.” She snorted. “But I have some more concerns.” She couldn't bring up one problem, Archie's worries about Hermione's reaction, but there were others.

“What’s concerning?” 

“We need to work on communication.” She lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “Even just as friends, we’re going to say and do things that hurt each other. We can try to avoid it, but it’s going to happen sometimes. But when I hurt you, or make you angry, you _can’t_ say things just to hurt me more instead of acknowledging your feelings. It’s not healthy, it’s not okay, and I won’t put up with it anymore.”

Caelum nodded. “I — yeah. I can’t promise it will never happen, but I don’t want to be like my — I don't want to upset you.”

“Archie upsets me all the time,” Harry said wryly. “The difference is, he doesn’t call me a whore or insult my family and blood status. We can practice appropriate confrontation skills sometime.”

He looked sheepish. “Right.” There was a pause. “But you have to communicate too. You can’t run away, or ignore me, or pretend that something doesn’t bother you when it does. I’m not a _Legilimens_.”

“Anyone could assume calling me a whore would bother me, you don’t need to be a _Legilimens_ to figure that out,” she said sharply.

He gestured his assent. “Aside from that. You know what I’m talking about.”

She sighed. “I didn’t think you knew enough to — you’re not wrong. I’ve done that my whole life, you know: pushed down everything I don’t want to face.” She shook her head, pushing away thoughts of a blue vest and a rat-faced man. “Every time, I tell myself I’m not bothered, I don’t care. Until everything becomes unbearable and I can’t… I can’t pretend any longer.” 

It was a pattern, one she’d seen again and again. Her willful magic. Her complex friendships. The blood supremacy and bigotry at Hogwarts. She’d had practice in avoidance her whole life. But no one could avoid forever, and every time, the tension built up to an explosion.

“I don’t want that to happen to us,” he said, voice dipping quieter, blue eyes serious.

“I don’t either.”

“Then don’t let it.”

“Oh, is it that easy?” Harry asked dryly.

"Easier when you make the choice to try," he said, sincere.

Harry acknowledged that excellent point with a nod. She ran her eyes over him, his beautiful, angled face, his potions-stained hand still in hers. 

Memories flashed through her head: Caelum’s mouth on hers in the hedge maze, all heat. Caelum turning to greet her in her Lower Alleys apartment, stirring a pot of stew made with Mrs Whitlock's recipe. Caelum sleeping with his head in her lap. Her dream, faint at first but growing more solid, of having a real partner in life as well as in potions.

He'd been tortured, and he'd come to _her._ He'd written that letter to Rigel. 

"But…” she said, still hesitating, “I don’t know if it makes sense to try. How could we ever have an equal footing in a relationship? When there are some things I'd have to lie to you about, forever? That's not fair. That's not love."

“I’m not going to say I’m thrilled with the prospect, but everyone has secrets, Harriet. We’ve always known that about each other. It’s not a deal-breaker, not for me.”

“I don’t know how you can say that, without knowing,” she sighed.

“I have confidence in myself,” Caelum drawled. Then, more seriously, he added: “And I have confidence in you.”

The urge to kiss him hit her like a Bludgeoning Hex. “Why?” 

“What do you mean, why?” He looked at her as if she’d said something ridiculous. 

“You have no reason to have confidence in me.” Even less reason than he knew.

“I have every reason,” he countered. “Fair, maybe I shouldn’t have confidence in your ability to dance at society balls, from what I saw at the last gala—”

Harry rolled her eyes.

“—but I have confidence in _you._ Come on, Harriet. If anyone else had tried to take me off the Diagon Alley streets when I was sick, I would have fought them. I went with you.”

“You weren’t really in a state to fight,” she said doubtfully.

“I could have,” Caelum protested. “Maybe I couldn’t have _won,_ but I could have fought. Even then, I trusted you. Even then I…” He swallowed whatever he was about to say, and instead, repeated, “I have confidence in you.”

Harry dropped his hand and went to sit heavily down on his potions bench. She could imbue high-level potions without a blink, she could brew for hours without a break, she could duel multiple opponents, but talking about her emotions? Exhausting. 

He had confidence in her, he said. He wanted to be with her, even knowing she was a liar. She was too tired to fight against herself anymore. Too tired to argue against what she knew in her bones she wanted.

“I believe you,” Harry said, rubbing her temples. “And we're both willing to try and make something out of this. So what now?”

She startled when Caelum touched her shoulder, and looked up to see his eyes crinkle.

“Now, whatever we want.”

-O-

[Clclclclclclcl]

-O-

There was a lull after their tense conversation — the most draining conversation Caelum had ever been part of, but unmistakably the one with the best outcome. Harriet excused herself to the loo while Caelum cleaned up his lab area. After a few minutes, he came out into the hallway to check on her. The bathroom door was still closed. He glanced into his own bedroom across the hall, where he’d left a dirty robe on the ground, and he hastened to shove it under the bed. 

A moment later, Harry poked her head into his bedroom, face pink.

“All right?” he asked, eyeing her. Had she been crying? Had he said something fucked up again and not noticed? (Of course he would set a record for quickest-relationship-destroyed.)

“Fine. Just a little overwhelmed,” she said, face going redder.

“Want some stress relief?”

“That’s not the smoothest proposition I’ve ever heard, I have to say.”

“No, I—” Caelum tripped over his words, and Harriet laughed. It was possibly the best sound _he_ had ever heard.

“Like a massage. It’s all the rage for —” Shoot, probably not the time to say _Dark Society_ — “Young people?”

“Ooookay. And this massage doesn’t require clothing, right?” She put a hand on her hip and grinned.

“I’ll have you know that’s standard practice for massage, even in the finest places,” he said loftily. “It’s much easier to get at those stubborn muscle knots without thick clothing in the way. Or so they say. Maybe they just wanted to see me shirtless.”

Harry laughed. "Don’t tarnish the good name of the Diagon Alley masseuses! I’m sure they are strictly professional.” She faced away from him and took her shirt off.

He noticed with bemusement that she took her tunic off the way his roommates at Durmstrang had: yanking the back of her shirt up over her head. Every other girl he’d ever been with had done a little shimmy with their arms crossed. 

“Well?” She’d plopped herself in his bed on her stomach and was looking at him expectantly.

Caelum hadn’t thought this far ahead. Her skin gleamed pale above his green silk sheets. All of a sudden, she was in his _bed._ It was like a scene out of his far-fetched fantasies when he’d toured the townhouse. Not so far-fetched, after all.

He climbed onto the bed and knelt over her so he could rub her back. When his hands met her skin, she let out a groan. It was a good thing she’d rolled her head back to relax onto his pillow; he didn’t want her to see the heat that was climbing up his neck and his not-well-hidden arousal. 

Her knots of tension slowly eased as he dug his thumbs into her shoulders. Good Merlin, her muscles were tight. Perhaps she’d been more nervous than she’d shown about finally discussing their relationship.

Their _relationship._

The first time he'd felt attracted to her, he’d questioned his judgement. His whole life, he'd been drawn to a certain type: girls like Beatrice Yaxley, with flowing golden hair and demure pureblood poise. Or even women like Lady Zabini (although he'd never go _there_ for self-preservation reasons), women who possessed dynamic curves and unwavering confidence. Harriet Potter didn't fit in either of those categories. Her hair was cut short as a boy's, messy and dark, and she was neither poised nor pureblood. Certainly not demure. She was fit but petite. Harry was confident in her abilities — her incredible Potions talent came to mind — but when it came to herself, as a woman, as a person, she wasn't secure.

But he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anyone. More than he'd ever wanted anything except his Potions Mastery. It had been slow to build, that attraction, but now it was hard to remember feeling any other way.

Caelum leaned his head down to press a soft kiss to her spine, just below the strap of her bra. She shivered. His hands wandered down, tracing circles into the little dimples of her lower back.

“Maybe _you’re_ the one who should quit Potions to be my personal masseuse,” Harriet said, tilting her head to the side. “I’ll bring enough fame and fortune home for the both of us.”

Caelum turned his shoulder kiss into a bite. “Brat,” he retorted, fondness making his voice embarrassingly soft.

She arched her back under his hands, which brought her arse up flush against him. Caelum groaned at the feeling. Damn it, he was trying to be selfless here and give her a backrub, but she was making his life hard (among other things). She still felt tense under his hands, even as she made soft, little noises.

“Is that too much?” His hand paused on her back. “I can use less pressure.”

“No, that’s—really good,” Harry said. “Feels amazing.”

She was seriously going to kill him. Caelum made a face that Harry couldn’t see, but continued rubbing into her tight muscles. She arched her hips and brushed against him; he shifted back so she wouldn't feel how hard he was.

Harry sighed loudly. “Not much for the subtle approach, are you?”

“Excuse me?” 

Harry twisted underneath him, rolling onto her back. “I’m done with the massage now. If that wasn’t clear.” Her face was flushed, her eyes half-lidded.

“You could have _said._ ”

“Too true, I should set a better communication example,” she laughed. “Come here.” 

Harry pulled him forward to lie on top of her. He could feel the heat of her bare chest through his silk shirt. Her lips were a breath from his. Not quite touching. 

"I've been imagining this all month," he whispered, "which you can guess made it very hard to concentrate on my dissertation."

"Maybe I could give you a few tips to help you along." Harry’s voice wavered as he slid his hand up her waist to the side of her breast. “I’m quite good at research, you know.”

He brushed his lips against the hollow of her neck. “I know.” 

His hand came up to caress her face. He kissed her mouth, softly at first, before she deepened the kiss and let passion override tenderness.

They undressed each other between kisses. Neither of them spoke. It was too warm to need to be under Caelum’s covers, but he threw a sheet over both of their bare bodies anyway. The feel was luxurious, intoxicating: the contrast between the cool fabric and her warm skin. The smell of her shampoo, taking him back to that night they’d spent in her bed. Under the cover, Harry’s legs twined around his. He wanted to touch every inch of her.

He kissed her lips, her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, before continuing down her stomach. Her tight muscles rippled under his mouth. It was a peculiar sensation — he’d never been with someone as fit as she was.

"Caelum, I've never—"

Of course she hadn't, when her first time had been with _him._ He didn't normally do this for witches, not unless they asked or he was in a particularly giving mood. But Harry was special. Hell, he already knew that.

"It's okay," he said, pressing another kiss against her thigh. "I think you'll like this."

If her shaking legs weren't enough to tell, the way she moaned loud enough for the streets of Hogsmeade to hear said that she did, indeed, like it. 

"Caelum!" She tugged at his hair, a painful and pleasurable jolt. He'd been wrong about her laugh being the best sound ever. It took second place to his name on her lips as she came.

He slipped out from under the covers. Harry threw an arm over her flushed face.

“Do you want me to—” Harry gestured vaguely, her voice more high-pitched than usual, face still covered by her arm.

Did he _want_ her to? A silly question. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t indulged in a few (okay, many) daydreams of her mouth on him. But she was biting her lip, looking more nervous than enthused. “Another time,” he said reluctantly.

She sat up and gripped his shoulders, kissing him again with a sudden fervor. (Maybe he’d said the right thing, for once.) He was still kneeling on the bed, leaning forward over her now, her legs spread around him. 

“You’re not the only one who’s been thinking about this all month,” Harry whispered, pulling away from the kiss. “I want to feel you inside me."

She twisted away onto her hands and knees, arching her hips up again. This time this implication was clear.

When he gripped her waist, positioned himself, and slid into her, all he could choke out was, “ _God_." He forgot everything he knew except her. 

Sex with Harry was like brewing together — she was always a step ahead, faster than he anticipated (and a million times better than he imagined). Their rhythm was a little off, but she was wet and tight around him, so hot he felt he might burst into flames. 

It was all so overwhelming. The taste of her lingering in his mouth. Her desperate little noises. The bounce of her chest. Her wide green eyes when she looked back at him over her shoulder. He clenched his own eyes shut and gritted his teeth, trying desperately not to make a fool of himself right away.

Caelum would've expected the realization of his feelings for Harry would make sex less exciting. Like married couples — if the thrill of the chase was nearing its end, if there was no more tension, then where was the fun? Instead, it was even better than the first time. The first time, the thrill had come from the impulsivity and the taboo of bedding a half-blood. But everything was different now.

Caelum was half-aware of what he was saying, in between choked breaths and the slap of her hips back against him. "Fuck, you’re perfect — so good—" It all came crashing out of his mouth in a helpless stream of consciousness. 

"Oh!" Harriet clenched around him, gasping, before collapsing her elbows and knees down to the bed. She pressed her face into the pillow as he shifted inside her. 

“Just like that,” he murmured. 

The new position was somehow more intimate, even with a shallower angle. Every inch of their bodies was pressed together — they couldn't have possibly been any closer. He put his hands over hers, interlacing their fingers while he thrust into her again. Harriet turned her head to kiss him sloppily. Her fingers tightened around his.

He bit at her neck, which got another loud moan out of her. Could he make her come again before he finished? But she felt so good, and he was so close. 

Caelum was still holding her hand when he came. For once in his life, he held back the words on the tip of his tongue before they tumbled out of his mouth. _Fuck, I love you._

He pulled out and rolled to lie on his back beside her, hand coming up to wipe sweat off his forehead. 

"That was… wow.” Harriet’s green eyes were heavy-lidded. "You're full of hidden talents."

“ _Hidden?_ ” Caelum’s voice shook, even as he tried for a teasing tone. “We’ve already had sex before.”

“Not like that, we haven’t.” 

Harry scooched over to rest her head on his shoulder and threw her leg over his. Caelum put his hand on her soft hair, fingers curling against the nape of her neck, his heart racing.

Up until now, he’d done his best to avoid acknowledging certain things, even in his own head. He’d known, all those weeks ago in Hogsmeade. He’d sat with Harry on a straw bale and watched the constellations reflected in her eyes, and he’d known. He hadn’t said anything. On her palm, he’d traced: _I fancy you._ It was true. But it wasn’t the whole truth. 

At the Garden Party, it had been painful to admit aloud that he wanted her. Harder to admit to himself later that he couldn't imagine his life without her, and attraction was only a small piece of that feeling. Hardest of all to look her in the eyes today and have a real conversation, admitting all his faults, planning for a hazy future.

Was that what people did, when they were in love?

Harry made a small noise and snuggled against him. He’d never complain about her body so close to his. She was soft and warm and still a little sweaty.

In addition to the terror of _love_ spinning cartwheels through his inner monologue, more troubled thoughts joined. The fact that Harry would leave soon — not just for one night, but for months… What if she forgot about him? What if he’d been wrong, gambling that his family wouldn’t come after her? He’d defended her to his godfather; he’d be a fool to think those words wouldn’t spread. 

What if she changed her mind and decided he wasn’t worth it? What if he’d thrown away his only friend, his best friend, for a romance that was doomed? 

“It’s late,” Harry whispered, kissing his shoulder.

“Not that late.”

“I need to pack tonight.”

His mouth went dry. His instinct was to turn the fear curdling in his chest into an attack. Into a defense. He could have said, _Pack for your shoddy American school?_ or _Go, then, see if I care._

Caelum looked into Harry’s bright green eyes, and he said, “Stay.”

Harry smiled at him. Tender. Excruciating. “I can’t,” she said. “But I expect a letter every time you think about me while I’m away at school.”

“I’d run Regulus bankrupt at the Owl Office,” he said, half-serious.

Harry’s smile grew amused. “I’d like to see that.”

“Then you will.”

-O-

[Hphphphphp]

-O-

When Rigel Black boarded the Express to begin her fifth year at Hogwarts, she was uncharacteristically distracted. She dropped her trunk in the usual compartment and smiled at Draco and Pansy, already seated. “Hi Dray, hi Pans. How have your summers been?”

“Since we hardly saw you at the Garden Party, you mean?” Pansy sniffed. 

Rigel grimaced apologetically. “I’m sorry we didn’t get the chance to talk more, Pansy. There was… a lot going on.”

“So I heard,” Pansy said archly.

Rigel met Draco’s eyes in alarm. 

He crossed his arms. “You didn’t expect me to keep things from _Pansy_ , did you?”

She had, actually. Rigel supposed that answered the question of who had blabbed, how Bellatrix had known — Draco hadn’t listened to Archie’s request to keep the information to himself. She hurriedly clamped down on her Occlumency; she didn’t want him to feel the bubble of betrayal and frustration that burst inside her.

“Should I expect the others, or have their parents told them to shun me politically?” Rigel sat down next to Pansy, across from Draco.

Draco and Pansy exchanged a glance. “Millie and Blaise should be here shortly,” Pansy said, sounding hesitant. “I’m not sure about Theo.”

Rigel shrugged, playing nonchalant. She and Archie had expected some backlash from the interview. But it hurt all the same. “Tell me about France, Pans — you just got back last week, right?”

Pansy tossed her now shoulder-length blonde hair over her shoulder. “Rather as I expected. Mother wanted to show me off to all the Pelissiers.”

“Anyone catch your fancy?” Rigel teased. “Any summer flings to report?” A reference to Theo was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back.

“Please,” Draco interjected. “No Pelissier would know what to do with our Pansy.” 

Pansy raised an eyebrow. “Like any British boys do?”

They all laughed, but Rigel’s laugh shook a little. She was still thinking about Draco’s defiant glare, about wavering trust, about jealousy. How Draco had pulled Archie aside at the party, and the tight, suspicious look on his face. 

It contrasted sharply with the other image burned into her mind — Caelum’s expression when she’d left his bed, his worry, vulnerability as bare as their bodies. Icy blue eyes the warmest she’d ever seen them. He’d opened his mouth, and this time, he’d said, _Stay._

She’d spent so many years dreaming of Hogwarts. She’d lied and pretended and fought to be there. Never would she ever have thought she would sit in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express and wish so desperately to be somewhere else.

When Millicent and Blaise arrived at the compartment door, Blaise with a sly smirk and Millicent looking unsure, Rigel made sure to smile and greet them as genuinely as she could. It wasn’t her friends’ fault that their parents were so deep in the Party. It wasn’t their fault that their allegiances were forever torn. 

But she couldn’t stop thinking: Caelum had chosen _her._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for now! Hopefully the next chapter won't take so long.
> 
> I cut the part where the flower symbolisms from the bouquet Caelum produced last chapter are elaborated on, but for the curious, here are the relevant meanings!  
> Purple hyacinth: I am sorry, please forgive me  
> Jonquil: Return my affection, desire  
> Orange rose: Desire, passion, fascination


End file.
